


































































































FRANK FORESTER’S 


FIELD SPORTS 

« 

OF THE 

UNITED STATES, 

AND 

BRITISH PROVINCES, OF NORTH AMERICA. 


There is exhilaration in the chose — 

Not bodily only. * * * * * 

It is a mingled rapture, and we find 
The bodily spirit mounting to the mind. 

Sir Egerton Brydges. 


BY 

HENRY WILLIAM HERBERT, 

AUTHOR OF ! ^ 

FRANK FORESTER'S “FISH AND FISHING,” “ HORSE AND HORSEMANSHIP,” 
“THE COMPLETE MANUAL FOR YOUNG SPORTSMEN,” ETC. 


EIGHTH EDITION, CONTAINING NUMEROUS CORRECTIONS AND ADDITIONS, A LIKE¬ 
NESS OF THE AUTHOR, AND A VIEW OF HIS RESIDENCE, 
PHOTOGRAPHED BY MEADE AND BROTHER. 

PREFACED BY 

gitt (Drigirral JUicfcIj 0! jjis krg futmatm# pemohu 


W. A. 


IN TWO VOLUMES. 
YOL. I. 



■ > > 


NEW YORK: 

TOWNSEND, 377 BROADWAY. 

1858 . 


SKHC 

.B-45" 


^ y/ y- 

/i 


Entered according to an Act of Congress, in the year 1848, 


BY STRINGER. AND TOWNSEND. 

In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court for the Southern District of New-York. 


PRINTED BY 
HOYT & OAFFRAY, 
82 & 84 Beekman St., N. Y. 





COLONEL WADE HAMPTON 


fcc., fcc M &c. t 

of “E^e E^ooUlantis,” South Carolina, 

STJils toovlt on tjje jFielti Sports of tfje SfnltelJ States 
anti SSrlt&b Sprolunces 
of 

North America, 

to bery respectfully ticutcatcO, as a tribute of homage 
to 

SbejFlrst Sportsman 
• tn tlje lantJ; 

33y bis ©bb’t Serb’t 

Frank Forester. 


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


©I V o i u m c © u t . 


PHOTOGRAPHIC PORTRAIT OP THE AUTHOR, . 

FRONTISPIECE. 

Rocky Mountain Sheep and Goats . 

. 32 ^ 

Canada Grouse. 

70 V 

American Snipe ....... 

. 91 V 

Green and Blue-Winged Teal .... 

119 V 

Snipe Shooting , . . . . , 

. . . 137^ 

American Woodcock . .... 

169^ 

Ruffed Grouse , . ... 

. 24S V 

American Quail .... 4 , 

263 v 



CONTENTS OF VOLUME ONE 


MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR,.pp. xi-xlvi 

Introductory Observations . . . 11 

The Game of North America. 30 

Upland Shooting of the Northern States and British 

Provinces ..45 

The Pinnated Grouse ... * . . • -49 

The Ruffed Grouse 64 

The Canada Grouse. ^1 

American Quail ,.•••••••30 

The Woodcock. 86 

Common Snipe. 9 -^ 

Bartram’s Tatler ^4 

The American Hare • • • • • • • * 

The Northern Hare. 

The Mallard 106 

The Dusky Duck.- 110 

The Blue-Winged Teal 1-^ 

The Green-Winged Teal. 

The Wood Duck—Summer Duck.I 22 

The Pintail Duck. 128 

Upland Shooting of the Eastern and Middle States and of 

the British Provinces.I 34 

ITT 

Spring Snipe Shooting. 

Summer Woodcock Shooting. 169 

Upland Plover Shooting. 201 

. 209 

Autumn Cock Shooting ...•••* 










viii 


CONTENTS. 


Quail Shooting.219 

Ruffed Grouse Shooting .240 

Grouse Shooting.248 

Autumn Shooting 263 

Rail; and Rail Shooting ..274 

Rail Shooting . •.293 

Duck Shooting on Inland Waters ..... 299 

Sporting Dogs . •.318 

The Setter .......... 319 

The Pointer. 334 

The Cocking Spaniel.338 

Kennel Management 841 

Field Management of Dogs .••••. 860 










ADVERTISEMENT 


TO THE EIGHTH EDITION. 


I HAVE little to say in the Preface to the eighth edition of the 
following work on Field Sports, first issued in 1849 ; my reasons 
for producing it, at this moment, will be found in the body of the 
book itself; but, once for all, it appeared to me that such a work 
was needed, at this juncture, and that its publication might pos¬ 
sibly tend, in some small degree, to avert the impending doom 
which seems to have gone forth from the democracy of the land 
against game of all sorts. 

No one abler, or elder, seemed willing to stand forth ; so 
“ with all my imperfections on my head,” I have ventured my¬ 
self as the champion of American Sport and Sportsmanship ; 
and—“ what is writ is writ, would it were worthier !” 

I have here, especially and before aught else, to express my 
obligations for what I have borrowed—the generic distinctions 
namely, and descriptions of the form, measurement, and plumage, 
of all the winged game of the Continent—from those distin¬ 
guished ornithologists and good sportsmen, Mr. Audubon and 
Mr. Giraud, to whose “ Birds of America,” and “ Birds of Long 
Island,” I am greatly indebted. I have not scrupled, moreover, 
to quote largely, on occasion, from Wilson’s u American Orni¬ 
thology,” De Kay’s “Natural History of New York,” and 
Godman’s u American Natural History,”—and to all these 
gentlemen I beg to express the high sense I feel, of the aid I have 



X 


ADVERTISEMENT. 


derived from their excellent works. To my friend, William 
T. Porter, I need not apologise for the two or three pages I have 
borrowed from his admirable edition of u Hawker on Shooting,” 
as he would pardon, doubtless, a heavier offence to a fellow work¬ 
er in the same honorable field with himself. 

For the illustrations designed by myself, from living or stuffed 
specimens, I am greatly indebted to Mr. Bell, the eminent 
taxidermist and naturalist, who kindly laid open his cabinet for 
my use. 

Since issuing my first edition, many criticisms—some very cor¬ 
rect and courteous, others just as incorrect, uncandid, and ungen- 
tlemanly—have led me to review some of my opinions ; and those 
which are found incorrect, will be found entirely altered and re¬ 
written. This is the case with the article on the Pinnated 
Grouse, concerning which I have obtained much valuable infor¬ 
mation from an eminent Western sportsman, which will be found 
embodied in this edition. 

A tour to the North-West and the Great Lakes has enabled me 
to give some farther information regarding that very interesting 
region ; and much communion during this spring with a very well 
known Prairie and Rocky Mountain Hunter, Mr. T. M. Adams, 
of Independence, Missouri, has confirmed me in some of my 
views, and enabled me to correct errors in others in relation to 
the Wild Sports of the West. 

This said, nothing remains but to express my hope, that my 
labors may be not wholly vain, and that my doctrines may meet 
the favorable censure of those, for whose use they are intended— 
the Sportsmen or America. 

HENRY WILLIAM HERBERT. 


The above preface is the latest prepared by Mr. Herbert, while antici¬ 
pating the pleasure of issuing this revised edition, shortly prior to his sudden 
decease. The index also, has been carefully adapted to the numerous addi¬ 
tions in the work, and is now believed to be both accurate aud complete. 

THE PUBLISHER. 







« 








/ 











A FEW MEMOIRS 


OF 

HENRY WILLIAM HERBERT, 

BETTER AND MORE FAMILIARLY KNOWN AS 

“FRANK FORESTER.” 


The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together: our virtues would 
be proud if our faults whipped them not, and our crimes would despair if they were not 
cherished by our virtues.”— Shakespeare. 


[The publisher intended to have availed himself of the pleasing pen of 
one of Mr. Herbert’s most intimate and most esteemed friends, the late 
William T. Porter, Esq., the popular editor of the “ Spirit of the Times,” as 
the best qualified and most suitable biographer of the departed “Frank 
Forester.” Mr. Porter, however, being in feeble health, the following 
sketch was prepared by a mutual friend of all the parties, with the inten¬ 
tion of obtaining Mr. Porter’s approval as a prefix. In the mean time, a 
verification occurred of the solemn proverb, “Man proposes—God dis¬ 
poses.” William T. Porter himself is now numbered among those who 
have “ gone before.” 

The publisher is enabled to say, however, that the manuscript of the 
following sketch has been examined by several of the most prominent 
associates of both the deceased gentlemen, connected with either the Press 
or the Turf, and it has been honored with their entire and most cordial 
approbation.] 

After the injunction of “silence,” so earnestly im¬ 
plored by the unfortunate— infelicissimus , most unfor¬ 
tunate-—gentleman whose real and assumed names are 
here mentioned, there may, possibly, be some appearance 





xii A FEW MEMOIRS OF 

of presumption, or disrespect, in making any attempt at 
a relation of the principal incidents in his life. 

Still, as “ Frank Forester,” the lover of Nature, the 
charming writer, the Shakespeare of sporting literature, 
Herbert’s name and fame have now become a species of 
American public property, as it were, in which every 
person using the English language takes a hearty interest; 
and, without intending any disregard to the personal 
wishes of their dear, departed friend—for such his read¬ 
ers all feel and know him to be—his spiritual life and his 
literary influence have now commenced to shine forth in 
their true glory, and possess a greater hold than ever 
upon the public mind, as if enough never could be writ¬ 
ten or printed concerning so versatile and fascinating an 
author. 

Yes, indeed; by the matchless works Herbert has left 
to speak for him, he is with us more than ever—in spirit 
—upon the hill-top, in the flowery dell, tracing the sides 
of mountain brooks from bright and breezy eminences, or 
holding lofty communion with Nature among the leafy 
arches and solemn shades in our glorious old woods. As 
a writer, he has stamped the current impress of his gen¬ 
ius upon a young and confederated nation, just beginning 
to find out its vast possessions in topography and resources, 
yielding to its inhabitants almost every variety of climate 
and production. “Frank Forester,” with his pen, ac¬ 
companies us like some well-experienced surveyor, walk¬ 
ing about with a divining rod. “ Our Frank ” does more. 
He pleasantly introduces us to this, that, or the other 
—whatever may be most worthy of observation—in 
earth, air, or water. He points out how to cherish and 
preserve what an all-bountiful Providence has in store for 
the active, the patient, or the resolute. He is the “ Peter 
Parley” of his delighted followers. We incontinently 
shoulder our smooth-bore, lug the knapsack, or continue 


HENRY WILLIAM HERBERT. XI11 

to hold a fishing-rod with both hands, perhaps, even if 
some attendant mosquitoes are busily digging into our 
cuticle. We feel fairly enlisted, with all our manhood. 
We could follow such a leader as Herbert to any Sebas¬ 
topol, or through any Dismal Swamp. Health and activ¬ 
ity would thus give Mercury’s wings to our heels, secur¬ 
ing a firm cohesion for our brains; and, in town or 
country, in house or field, while the English language 
goes on growing in grace or grandeur, the fame and in¬ 
fluence of Henry William Herbert must be ever present 
among our household sentiments and familiar conversa¬ 
tions, especially as not one of his writings can be found to 
contain any improper tendencies. Ho wonder that the 
name of “Frank Forester” is already ranked among the 
most endearing of our “household words.” Wherever 
we may go, the spirit of this instructive and pleasing 
writer seems to be with us. If we only look out upon the 
road, or go to the stable, we are reminded of Herbert’s 
influence as soon as our eyes rest upon a horse. The 
horse itself has advanced in comfort and civilization, so 
to speak, although he may never have known the bene¬ 
factor of his race, perhaps, in the flesh—never had an 
opportunity to trustingly rest his nose on Herbert’s shoul¬ 
der. But, Herbert has reached that horse. The genial 
spirit of “ Frank Forester ” has penetrated and dispersed 
the dark days of mismanagement, whispering a good 
word or two in season, among the right parties, appealing 
to the natural affections of the noble animal, and calling 
forth the loyal response of all the gallant creature’s fidel¬ 
ity and endurance. 

This is no exaggeration. The length and breadth ot 
this glorious land are now filled with the refreshing prac¬ 
tical philosophy taught by “Frank Forester.” We say 
this not as a mere figure of speech; we assert it as a fact, 
honorable as well to the reading public as to the author 


XIV 


A FEW MEMOIRS OF 


they thus delight to honor. By the spiritualization of 
intellect in Herbert’s writings, even the largest and wild¬ 
est of our American forests may become organized into 
classification, as if one grand cathedral for the worship of 
Nature in the study of natural history. The sunlight of 
intelligence seems to come over the mountain-tops, and 
stream in through the clearings, lake shores, or oak open¬ 
ings, as if the trees it illuminates were architectural win¬ 
dows, depicting sacred subjects for our contemplation 
upon stained glass, and mellowing our souls with a sub¬ 
limity of thought ascending like incense from an altar 
which consumes all inordinate desires and city-bred arti¬ 
ficialities. Surely then, no person who has ever read 
Herbert’s works would intentionally mar or interfere with 
the legitimate operations of their genial and refining 
influence. 

No; the hand now tracing these lines obeys the mind 
of a friend who would not, for worlds, be guilty of disre¬ 
garding the last wishes of so delightful (to him) a com¬ 
panion, and so completely qualified a public instructor as 
Henry William Herbert. As the priest wears a ring in 
token of marriage with the Church, so Herbert, with his 
pen in hand, was always faithful and constant to his public. 
A man so wayward—so peculiar—so often troublesome, 
apparently, to those who had actual dealings with him, 
is but rarely met with; and yet, he always had one uni¬ 
form degree of devotion to his readers. Even this was 
more tacit than expressed, but it was, nevertheless, 
uniform and consistent from the time he first be 2 :an to 
write for the public eye. Perhaps we might say, by way 
of metaphor, that Herbert’s only real wife was his public. 
Certain it is that constant devotion on his part, and in¬ 
creasing kindness on the other, has brought about a union 
of such indissoluble happiness as deprives death of nearly 
all its sting, and leaves the grave itself no victory. 


HENRY WILLIAM HERBERT. 


XV 


In accordance with, and in response to a national—we 
might almost say universal—wish for some biographical 
particulars relating to H. W. Herbert, we may commence 
by remarking that he was no curling-tongs count, nor 
runaway -banker’s clerk, but precisely what he always 
represented himself to be—an English gentleman, de¬ 
scended from and connected with some of the oldest and 
most aristocratic families in Great Britain and Ireland. 

The Herberts (or Eitz-Herberts, as they are frequently 
called in England) are undoubtedly of ancient origin and 
high rank. The name of Fitz-Herbert, signifying Son-of- 
Herbert, came into vogue in consequence of the long 
interval between their early progenitor of importance, 
who was lord-chamberlain to King Henry I. from about 
1120 till 1135, and the creation of William Herbert as 
Earl of Pembroke by Edward IV. in 3468. 

Chamberlains were of some importance in England 
about those days, especially when they acted as officier du 
Ixmche , or mouth-provider (chief butler), for their royal 
masters. This office was always considered a safe position 
for an ambitious man. Henry I. was killed by a surfeit 
after eating too many lampreys—a kind of fish he was 
very fond of—at Lyons, in Normandy. Edward IV. 
generally overcame his surfeits; but, when he made pris¬ 
oner of the Duke of Clarence, one of his brothers, who 
had joined in a rebellion against him under the Earl of 
Warwick, he ordered the duke to be drowned in a butt 
of Malmsey wine, and the sentence was duly executed by 
the king’s chief butler. These little facts are only men¬ 
tioned here in order to show that the family of Herberts 
would be likely to copy or inherit all the peculiar “ no¬ 
tions ” of monarchy since the days of the Norman kings; 
and, wherein they have not, we must give their heads and 
hearts credit for the difference. 

The English people have gradually made their mon- 


xvi 


A FEW MEMOIRS OF 


archs understand the necessity and convenience of good 
behavior. Henry I. was the third of the four Horman 
kings. Then came fourteen of the Plantagenet family. 
Edward IY. was the twelfth among them. Then came 
five of the house of Tudor. Then followed six of the 
Stuart line. After these came five of the Brunswick 
line; and, finally, Queen Yictoria. How, as Henry I. 
(like his brother, William Bufus) was a son of William 
the Conqueror, the Herberts may be said to have seen 
and survived nearly all the important changes in English 
society. There are but two other families more ancient 
in the provision of good things for the royal tables. 
These are the Botelers and the Dalbiacs, who “ came in 
with the Conqueror.” 

While attempting to judge of Herbert’s character, all 
these antecedents of his family should be considered, as 
of course they (unconsciously to him) helped to form in 
his mind those notions of classification and exclusiveness 
which seem so absurd and inexplicable to persons not 
acquainted with their historical origin and ancestral or 
legal importance. Herbert would be pleasant among 
gentlemen whom he knew to be such, according to his 
ideas; he would also be quite afiable and jolly among his 
jockey acquaintances; but, as soon as he came near what 
are sometimes called “ gentlemen-jocks,” he seemed to 
try how ugly and wilful he could behave. Such was one 
of his “ notions.” He thus caused himself to be much 
misunderstood, and sometimes seemed to revel in the 
misunderstanding. He wronged himself, however, more 
than anybody else, for strangers cared not a snap about 
his notions, while those who knew him also knew that his 
heart was full of universal sympathy, and the sympathy¬ 
seeking cast of his mind was admirably well qualified for 
adapting the most matured maxims of art to the fresh 
feelings and candid expressions of a free and independent 


HENRY WILLIAM HERBERT. XVH 

people, as all liis writings most conclusively show. How 
frequently do the most worthy individuals and greatest 
nations misunderstand each other’s manners and cus¬ 
toms ! 

The first Earl of Pembroke, already mentioned, was 
taken prisoner by the Lancasterian party, and beheaded 
by them in about a year after he obtained his earldom. 
His wife was Anne Devereaux, sister of Lord Ferrers of 
Chantley. She had a large family, but William Herbert’s 
successors became extinct in the male line after two more 
generations. From William’s brother, however, have 
descended the famous Herberts of Cherbury, and one of 
these became Earl Powis in 1746. This line also became 
extinct in a similar way, and passed with a daughter of 
Earl Powis into the family of the famous Lord Clive, 
where it yet remains. 

We do not know whether there is, or need be, any 
“bar sinister” upon the subject in the heraldic insignia 
of the Herberts, but it so happened that the aforesaid 
William Herbert, first Earl of Pembroke, left a son by a 
Welsh lady who bore his name of Herbert, in Montgom¬ 
eryshire. The son of that son married Anne Parr, sister 
of Catharine Parr, the sixth and last wife of Henry YHI. 
This renewed the influence of the Herberts at court; and, 
after “Old Harry” was dead, in the year 1551, during 
the reign of Edward VI., the grandson of the first earl 
received the title of Earl of Pembroke by a new creation, 
joined with that of Earl of Montgomery, inherited on the 
maternal side. This title is now held by Kobert Herbert, 
a descendant of the eighth generation, but reckons by 
fraternal mutations of the line as the twelfth Earl of Pem¬ 
broke and the ninth Earl of Montgomery. Sidney Her¬ 
bert, late Secretary of War in the British cabinet, is a 
brother to this personage. 

Among the younger sons of Thomas Herbert, the 
2 


xviii A FEW MEMOIRS OF 

eighth Earl of Pembroke, was General William Herbert, 
who distinguished himself greatly in the public service, 
and also had the good fortune to marry Eliza Wyndham, 
distinguished as the great-grand-daughter of the Duke of 
Somerset and of Elizabeth Percy, who was a sister of the 
last Earl of Northumberland, of the old continental line 
of Joscelyn of Louvain. General William Herbert was, 
therefore, on these accounts, raised to the peerage, with 
the title of Earl of Carnarvon, in 1793. 

The third son of this first Earl of Carnarvon was the 
Hon. and Rev. William Herbert, subsequently Dean of 
Manchester, and the father of the subject of these me¬ 
moirs. Hence, it is clear that our own “ Frank Forester,” 
the modern author, was a descendant of the proud Per- 
cys, the irascible Joscelyns, and the ducal Somersets, 
commingled with the agricultural Herberts, as well as 
the literary and liberty-loving Sidneys. On the maternal 
side, besides the original Welsh blood of the Montgomery 
stock, he inherited an Irish influence of the very highest 
character, his mother being the Hon. Letitia Allyn, second 
daughter of Yiscount Allyn of Kildare, one of the Irish 
representative peers, and a branch of the princely Lein¬ 
ster line. This estimable lady is now living in May Fair, 
London. Herbert’s father, the Dean of Manchester, is 
best known to American readers as the author of “Attila.” 
He was a profound scholar, and died in 1817. 

Henry William Herbert was born in London on the 
7th of April, 1807, a year which has been made famous 
by giving America her Longfellow and her Willis. Un¬ 
til the age of twelve, Master Henry was taken charge of 
by private tutors in his father’s house, which, in those 
days especially, was a general resort for parliamentary 
wits and distinguished scholars. On entering his teens, 
Henry was sent to Dr. Hooker’s academy at Brighton, on 
the Sussex coast. In April, 1820, commencing his four- 


HENRY WILLIAM HERBERT. 


xix 


teentli year, lie was entered at Eton, where his happy 
powers of analysis, or of synthesis, astonished all the pro¬ 
fessors. He made such remarkable progress that in 1825 
his father sent him to Cains College, Cambridge, and in 
the class of 1829-’30 he graduated thence. 

While at Cambridge the society of the youthful Her¬ 
bert was eagerly sought after by more wealthy young 
commoners; and, as he was equally anxious to associate 
with them, he gradually formed some very expensive 
habits. In books and in clothing, boating, racing, tandem 
drives, etc., he scattered money extravagantly; but there 
are always very kind old gentlemen, around colleges 
especially, who know a young man’s pedigree and con¬ 
nections as well, if not better, than he does himself, and 
who have a particular regard for lending money to young 
gentlemen with large expectations themselves or parents 
able to pay up all forfeits. One of the best things Her¬ 
bert did while at Cambridge was to join a troop of Cam¬ 
bridgeshire Yeomanry Cavalry, a full squadron of which 
was occasionally “ camped out ” on the routes between 
Cambridge and Huntingdon, Peterborough, Lynn, Nor¬ 
wich, and sometimes as far north as Boston in Lincoln¬ 
shire, as the different counties might invite each other’s 
members, generally freeholders of the county, but always 
wfilling to receive recruits from among the collegians. 
By the knowledge of equestrian and field movements thus 
acquired, Herbert was subsequently enabled to give us 
those fine descriptions of Roman battles, sieges, and cam¬ 
paigns (by the way, the historian Gibbon has made use 
of a similar advantage in early education among his 
works), which Herbert’s delighted readers find in “ The 
Captains of the Old World,” or in “The Koman Repub¬ 
lic,” and wdiich he intended to have continued. Much 
of the supposed hauteur of Herbert’s manner arose from 
the fact that his mind was so frequently “ pre-occupied ” 
2 


VOL. i. 


XX 


A FEW MEMOIRS OF 


—as the French would say—with some other scene, in 
other lands, and among other languages, so that his return 
to present realities, and the use of vernacular English, 
required a mental effort which might easily be mistaken 
for lack of courtesy. There need be no doubt of this, for 
in his writings the magnetic chord of attraction is never 
interrupted between him and his readers, or between 
them and him. Nor does he make any parade of learned 
lore, either by allusion or quotation, except as they would 
suggest themselves to those scholars who can revel in 
similar flights of classic exploration and poetic adaptation. 
And yet, of all the writers ever gifted to charm all 
classes, we know of no one who has more uniformly kept 
in view the old maxim that— verbum dulce multiplicat 
amicos , etc.—sweet language will multiply friends, and a 
fair-speaking tongue will multiply kind greetings. 

These considerations and circumstances remind us of 
the often mentioned difference implied by the exhorta¬ 
tion—“Do as I preach , no matter what I may do” 
While at college, Herbert had so rapidly acquired a rest¬ 
less and reckless way of living, that his parents could 
exercise little or no control over him. He' plunged 
deeper and deeper into debt after coming of age; and, on 
being “ whitewashed ” for the third time by the insolvency 
process, the usual sentence of outlawry for debt was pub¬ 
lished. Herbert then voluntarily went to Brussels, and 
afterwards to Paris; but neither the Continent, nor Eu¬ 
rope itself, were large enough for his peculiar ideas, and 
“ no pent-up Utica ” could satisfy him; nothing short of 
“ a boundless continent,” like that of America, seemed 
worthy of his notice. 

Herbert landed in this country about November, 1831, 
and the few hundred pounds he brought with him having 
been soon expended, he was compelled to turn his atten¬ 
tion to business. He readily obtained an engagement as 


HENRY WILLIAM HERBERT. Xxi 

a teaclier of Greek in the Rev. R. Townsend Huddart’s 
classical and fashionable school, which at that time was 
in Beaver street, near Broadway. The duties of his station, 
and the select company he met with, were too much like 
those at his father’s house at home. Herbert was, like 
Hazlitt, “ an untamable lover of liberty,” and he gradually 
began to write for the press, in a sort of anonymous man¬ 
ner, but with no objection to the pecuniary results. Mak¬ 
ing the acquaintance of the editor of the “ Spirit of the 
Times,” Col. Wm. T. Porter, the “ tall son of York,” Her¬ 
bert’s contributions were gladly received. He then “ did 
up the reviews” for the “Courier and Enquirer,” and 
soon made his mark as a keen and trenchant reviewer. 
Notwithstanding a discovery of these facts, it is due to 
the memory of the deceased to state that he retained the 
most honorable confidence, while giving perfect satisfac¬ 
tion, at Mr. Huddart’s school for eight years. 

In 1834, Herbert’s first historical novel, “The Bro¬ 
thers, a Tale of the Fronde,” was published by the Har¬ 
pers, and was very favorably received by the public. 
Such a writer certainly was an acquisition in those days, 
and the American mind readily acknowledged the au¬ 
thor’s claims to distinction. For some reasons we do not 
understand, and have no wish to interfere with, this work 
has been allowed to go out of print, although it is said 
that the pages are stereotyped, and the plates are in pos¬ 
session of Messrs. Harper, who refuse to allow any further 
use to be made of them. Herbert was for a long time 
known to the public only by the title of “ author of The 
Brothers,” etc., but he never offered the Harpers any 
more of his MSS. A member of that enterprising firm is 
said to have been “hit off” in the “Warwick Woodlands.” 

From 1833 to 1836, Herbert was, more or less, con¬ 
nected with the “American Monthly Magazine,” some¬ 
times writing all the editorial matter, having succeeded 


XXII 


A FEW MEMOIRS OF 


Dr. A. D. Patterson, and joined Charles F. Hoffman in its 
editorial management. 

In 1837, Herbert’s reputation as a writer of historical 
novels seemed fully confirmed by the appearance of 
“ Cromwell,” which was even more favorably received by 
the American public than “ The Brothers.” 

In 1838, Herbert became mixed up in a dispute lead¬ 
ing to a proposed duel, which would undoubtedly have 
taken place but for a severe snow-storm, which prevented 
the parties from meeting in Canada as intended. The 
second of his antagonist, having subsequently reproached 
Herbert with cowardice at Washington Hall, in Hew 
York, the latter fired twice at his accuser, but the balls 
went into the door of the room as the other gentleman 
went out. This affair furnished much gossip for the small 
daily papers then coming into notice. 

Washington Hall was on the Reade street corner of 
what is now known as Stewart’s marble palace in Broad¬ 
way. This hotel was the general head-quarters of all the 
“men about town,” and the “ Bucks of Washington Hall” 
was a title commonly given to the frequenters of its bar¬ 
room. All the “ odd fish ” and “ strange geniuses ” were 
sure to go there, by a sort of tacit understanding, as soon 
as they arrived in Hew York. The hotel became partic¬ 
ularly famous after it had been visited by Madame Mali- 
bran, and here it was that Mr. Gilfert, then proprietor of the 
Bowery Theatre, offered the gifted songstress the articles of 
an engagement, with blanks left for herself to insert such 
terms of payment as she might think proper. The arri val, 
in 1831, of such an “invincible ” as Herbert threw “the 
whole crowd ” into ecstasies. His cavalier boots, with 
King Charles spurs, were voted “just the cheese.” His 
moustaches, such articles being rarely seen in Broadway 
during those days, attracted many a fair one’s favorable. 
glance from the opposite or fashionable side of the way. 


HENRY WILLIAM HERBERT. 


xxiii 


We do not mean to imply that Herbert was an inmate 
at Washington Hall, although, like hundreds of others, 
he visited the house occasionally. lie was boarding at 
the Carlton House, whither he had gone in 1836, because 
his connection with the u Courier and Enquirer ” and 
other papers, all published down town, had become so 
intimate as to engross a large portion of his time. James 
O. Sargent was in those days one of the leading editors 
of the “ Courier,” and a strong team—from Matthew L. 
Davis around to Charles A. Burdett—were engaged to 
fill the various departmental duties. As a reviewer and 
an occasional contributor of poetry, Herbert’s name and 
presence became familiar in literary, artistic, and musical 
circles. As a natural consequence, his handsome person 
and fascinating manners caused the society of such a man 
to be much courted by the ladies, but his thoughts were 
too much occupied by his writings or by “the jolly dogs 
of the clubs ” to seriously entertain the idea of marriage. 

In this state of affairs, Herbert was requested, one day 
in 1839, to accompany one of his literary friends, Mr. 
Joseph A. Scoville, on a wedding tour to Bangor, in 
Maine. Mr. Scoville was at that time in wealthy and 
promising circumstances. He was about to marry a Miss 
Barker, daughter of the then Mayor of Bangor. Herbert 
found that Scoville had so much set his mind upon hav¬ 
ing him as groomsman at the wedding that at last he con¬ 
sented to accompany the expectant bridegroom. The 
inconvenience of leaving business in Hew York would be 
compensated by a round trip of a thousand miles, and the 
pleasure of witnessing a joyful occasion. 

After arriving at Bangor, there was, for some unac¬ 
countable reason, a slight delay. In the mean time, the 
astounding discovery was made that the intended bride 
was quite willing for the ceremonies of sacrifice at the 
hymenial altar to proceed, but it was with Henry William 


XXIV 


A FEW MEMOIRS OF 


Herbert only for her husband; and thus the aforesaid 
Joseph A. Scoville found himself in a peculiarly perplex¬ 
ing predicament, and his mind has, we believe, never 
fully recovered from this distressing shock to its original 
sensibilities. These circumstances are a subject of gossip 
down to the present day in Bangor. This is, undisputa- 
bly, a free country; our Puritan brothers in the East 
have peculiar ideas of European nobility; and the sway 
of female power is not only absolute but unquestionable 
in American society. The real motives of action in such 
cases are necessarily of a private nature, and it is not 
likely that they ever can be properly understood by out¬ 
side lookers-on. We have here stated such facts as are 
known to have occurred, and they go to show that II. W. 
Herbert was not the only odd character in his day and 
generation. As “Death loves a shining mark,” so does 
“ the reptile spirit of calumny.” 

History teaches that royal marriages, when conducted 
by proxy, sometimes lead to dangerous perils from the 
despotism ot love. The ambassador is frequently thought 
more of than the prince who sent him. But Herbert was 
not the man to play the part of Dandini to any other 
man’s Prince Felix—Cinderella or no Cinderella. Her¬ 
bert’s principal was present. 

The general consistency of Herbert’s spirit-life may be 
seen in the fact that a happy marriage made him more 
useful and more admirable in society. Domestic disquiet 
being a fatal bar to all sublimity of attainment, no man— 
however great he may be in the way of genius or of indus¬ 
try-can possibly prosper under such despotic and 
obtrusive misery. But, with a happy home, all the ordi¬ 
nary troubles of life are deprived of any serious influence, 
and the man has some chance for shining forth in his true 
character. So it was with Herbert. In 1840, the year 
his son was born, Herbert extended his literary and poet- 


HENRY WILLIAM HERBERT. 


XXV 


ical contributions to the press more freely than ever. It 
was at this interesting period w T hen the name of “ Frank 
Forester” became created from Herbert’s Jove-like brain, 
and the world has consented to receive 

“ FRANK FORESTER” 

with all the honors, regardless of title or nation, heraldic 
devices or peerage books, but simply for that love of 
Nature which makes “ all mankind akin.” The name of 
“Frank Forester” soon became famous by carrying on a 
very spirited controversy in the “American Turf Regis¬ 
ter ” with the able articles furnished by “ Cypress, Jr.” 
“Our Frank” Was joyfully received among the great 
family of public favorites. His “ Ringwood the Rover ” 
and “Warwick Woodlands,” caused a general desire to 
have “ a few more of the same sort.” While thus en¬ 
gaged in producing some of the finest novels in his day, 
he found time to contribute many a good fugitive article 
to the “Knickerbocker Magazine,” “Graham’s Maga¬ 
zine,” and several other periodicals. There was scarely 
an issue of the last named magazine without one, two, and 
sometimes three, articles from Herbert’s ready pen; and 
these were generally thrown off by him without much 
thought or finish, as merely mental pastime among his 
other more permanent literary labors. 

One of the articles Herbert furnished to Graham in 
1841, was “ The Roman Bride,” a beautiful story, in which 
the general character of Attila the Hun, as portrayed by 
Herbert’s father in his famous poem of “Attila,” is well 
exemplified by the incidents attending the interruption of 
the bride’s marriage with Aurelius, and the dreadful com¬ 
bat between the sturdy barbarians of the Hun and the 
gallant champions of Roman virtue. The subject is re¬ 
nowned for its artistic beauties, and Herbert’s treatment 


XXVI 


A FEW MEMOIRS OF 


of it is a fine specimen of his doubly-gifted power of 
description and condensation. 

Another of the articles sent to Graham in 1841, was 
“The Marriage of Achilles,” which attracted general 
attention, for it showed the immense wealth of classic lore 
in the author’s mind, and his ability to concentrate and 
reweave the charming fruits of previous ages of study 
into the small scope of a magazine article. It astonished 
some of our oldest and best-read collegians with its abun¬ 
dance of historical detail, and it delighted the most super¬ 
ficial readers with its easily intelligible gorgeousness of 
description, partaking of both the voluptuous and heroic. 
The article read as if the old spirit of Grecian mythology 
had taken up a new abode among the brightness of the 
American continent, to keep alive our love of the beau¬ 
tiful, while showing the ancient sword of military warfare 
crowned with a wreath of orange-blossoms and myrtle 
leaves, surrounded by a halo of poetic glory, “ lambent 
and imitative of the lights that stud the empyrean.” 

However, our purpose at present requires us to pass 
on without stopping to indulge in a consideration of Her¬ 
bert’s writings, except so far as they give some outline of 
his life and character. Suffice it to say, that public favor 
induced him to gradually make his choice of subjects more 
familiar; for, with all his faults, he was true to his great 
patron—the American people. His “ Marmaduke Wyvil; 
or, the Maid’s Revenge,” published in 1843, was uncom¬ 
monly well received, but he wrote more and more sport¬ 
ing matter as he found “Frank Forester” was a more 
potent name than even that of H. W. Herbert. His con¬ 
nection with the “Spirit of the Times,” and its then 
editor, Vm. T. Porter, was Herbert’s most magnetic 
link of communication with popular favor, and many a 
“ spicy article ” has been concocted among the frequent¬ 
ers near the “ old Spirit ” office, when it was in Barclay 


HENRY WILLIAM HERBERT. 


xxvii 


street under the American Hotel, on the corner of Broad¬ 
way, in the good old days of Col. Cozzens. This kind of 
influence subsequently brought forth those treatises on 
sporting matters and natural history which have now be¬ 
come standard works in our national literature. 

Mr. and Mrs. Herbert, shortly after marriage removed 
from the Carlton House, in Hew York, to the Park House 
in Newark, N. J. In 1846, Mrs. Herbert died while at 
the latter place. Their son had been sent to England, 
where he found great favor with all his father’s relatives, 
and his education had been already undertaken by them. 
A proposition was made for the purchase of a house and 
homestead for the youthful Herbert, which, however, 
should be inalienable for any other purpose, except it 
might be as a residence for H. W. Herbert (held by a 
deed of trust) until his son became of age. Herbert, hav¬ 
ing long liked “ the Cedars,” a little shooting-box between 
Newark and Belleville, suggested its adoption, and took 
up his entire residence there shortly after Mrs. Herbert’s 
death. It is a romantic little spot, only an acre of ground, 
and the cottage is built in the Mary Tudor style, so situ¬ 
ated as to be embowered in foliage. 

Here the mind of “Frank Forester” gave forth “My 
Shooting Box,” “ Ballads of the American Revolution,” 
“The Field Sports of America,” “The Deer Stalkers,” 
“The Quorndon Hounds,” “Fish and Fishing of North 
America,” “Game in its Seasons,” “The Young Sports¬ 
man’s Manual,” and, finally, his great work on “ The 
Horse and Horsemanship of America.” Among the un¬ 
finished works at the time of his death were, “ Tricks and 
Traps of Horsedealers,” “Hints to Horsekeepers,” etc. 

As H. W. Herbert he was equally busy, although, 
perhaps not yet so popularly known, by such works as 
“ The Roman Traitor, a Romance founded on Cataline’s 
Conspiracy,” published in 1848. This was followed by 


xxviii A FEW MEMOIRS OF 

“A Metrical Translation of the Prometheus and Aga¬ 
memnon of HCschylus,” “ Henry VIII. and his Six 
Wives,” “The Cavaliers of England,” “The Chevaliers 
of France,” “The Knights of England, France, and Scot¬ 
land,” “The Captains of the Old World,” “Persons and 
Pictures from the Histories of France and England,” 
“The Captains of the Roman Republic,” and “The 
Wager of Battle.” But the greatest effort in this class of 
writing remains unfinished—a spirited translation from 
the “ Iliad ” of Homer; there is also a beautifully roman¬ 
tic account of “The Marys of History,” the MS. being 
quite complete, as he left it, but of course additional 
characters might be selected. 

Besides these acknowledged works, his contributions 
to newspapers and magazines are almost countless. In 
1850 he gave much time to a paper called “ The Sunday 
Era,” and in 1851 to another called “ The Sachem,” both 
published in Hew York. He also contributed many ar¬ 
ticles to what is now known as “ Ballou’s Pictorial,” in 
Boston. Dr. Patterson’s “Anglo-American,” about 1839, 
had fledged his pen for newspapers. 

We have more occasion to speak of Herbert as a 
writer than his private affairs as a man; but, in order to 
make this sketch as complete as possible, we must record 
the fact that he had some trifling dispute with a legal 
gentleman named Valentine, which resulted in a duel, 
and took place near Herbert’s residence at “ the Cedars.” 
After Herbert had been shot near one of his ankles, and 
Mr. Valentine lost a button from his waistband, the affair 
was amicably settled. By a sad coincidence with Her¬ 
bert’s subsequent fate, we may state that Mr. Valentine 
committed suicide shortly after this duel. The previous 
duel in which Herbert’s name was concerned owed most 
of its notoriety to the fact that it almost immediately fol¬ 
lowed the fatal rencontre between Barton and Graham, at 


HENRY WILLIAM HERBERT. Xxix 

Hoboken. The duel with Mr. Valentine attracted but 
little notice, and we should hardly mention it here except 
for the sake of impartiality. 

Our duty now leads us to a much more delicate affair, 
in which we hope to be correct without intrusion. In 
February, 1858, the newspapers of Newark, N. J., and 
New York, announced the marriage of Henry William 
Herbert with Adela R. Budlong, as having taken place 
on the 16th of that month. They were married by the 
Rev. John Shackleford, at the Episcopalian House of 
Prayer, in Newark. This announcement caused consider¬ 
able gossip, but that soon subsided. Herbert was in 
ecstasies with his new choice, and sad only when she was 
absent. In a few weeks, among the callers upon the 
newly married lady was a person who professed to know 
much of Herbert’s affairs, and also to have such a great 
regard for the new Mrs. Herbert that she could not take 
her leave without giving her a large amount of very spicy 
information, taking great care, however, to exact a prom¬ 
ise that the name of the informant should not be re¬ 
vealed. 

From that moment, peace fled the happy abode at 
“ the Cedars.” All poor Herbert’s plans of reformation 
and future improvement were upset. Mrs. Herbert is 
said to have left the house while he was absent in New 
York, whither he had gone to engage rooms at the Ste¬ 
vens House, thinking that more lively company and less 
slanderous callers would be more agreeable for Mrs. Her¬ 
bert. His clear use of reason never fully rallied after he 
discovered her departure; and, when he received a letter 
stating that she would not visit him again, he spoke fre¬ 
quently of committing suicide, on the same day of the 
month in which he was married. His friends became 
alarmed, and watched his movements; but, about two 
o’clock in the morning of the 17th of May, 1858, the un- 


XXX 


A FEW MEMOIRS OF 


fortunate gentleman shot himself while in his room at 
the Stevens House, after withdrawing for a moment or 
two from the presence of Mr. Philip Hone Anthon, who 
had been in his company all the previous day and even¬ 
ing. The result was fatal. Two letters were found upon 
Herbert’s table. One was addressed to “ the coroner,” 
and the other to “the Press of the United,States.” They 
read as follows:— 


Monday, May 16,1858 (three months since the happiest day of my life.) 

To avoid all trouble, and simplify your duty, I have to state that 
I have taken my own life by a pistol shot, no one being privy to my 
doing it, or to my design. 

My reason for this act consists in no remorse for what I have 
done, or left undone; from no pecuniary pressure, from no inability, 
or fear of inability to support myself, from no weak fear of public 
opinion, least of all of New York, which I do now, as I always have 
done, utterly disregard and despise; from no embarrassment arising 
from any indebtedness. 

I have abundance of employment, and the prospect of much more 
—had the people of Newark, whom I forgive, from the bottom of my 
heart, suffered me to live honorably and happily in my humble home, 
and to amend my life where it was in error, in a new sphere, which I 
was honestly prepared to do, I might have paid off all my debts, and 
lived many years among you, an honest, useful, and happy man. My 
debts will be paid from my assets to the last dollar. 

It was not, however, so to be. My blood, and the guilt of it, is 
upon those women and men who first sowed suspicion, distrust and dis¬ 
sension between myself and the sweetest creature God ever gave, and 
man took away from an unhappy sinner. My own unhappy temper 
did the rest. 

The reason for this act, then, is simple. My life, long, sad, soli¬ 
tary and weary, and without an object beyond labor to earn a living 
for the day, has become utterly hopeless, hateful, and unendurable. A 
hope had been kindled in my heart again ; my home had got a light in 
it brighter than sunshine; my life had a purpose; I loved her un¬ 
utterably; I was immeasurably happy—all this has been dashed 
down—all is lost forever. Home—hope—sunshine, she —let life go 
likewise, since, henceforth, it is only another word for torture. 


HENRY WILLIAM HERBERT. 


xxxi 


I would not deny falsely one fault of which I am conscious, espe¬ 
cially at this last moment—I would not deny that I erred towards her 
whom this day shows that I loved more than life. I did err, but it 
was hastily. In any act or rash word, never, so may God deal with 
me, in thought or intimation. I never had one word with her about 
money matters, nor cared—scarcely knew whether she had or had 
not money. I never laid a hand or finger on her in wrath in my life. 
What I said or did wrongly, I repented on the instant—I have en¬ 
deavored to atone for it ever since—I die for it this day. I think, I 
hope I deserve pity more than blame, but I know that I shall not find 
it, least of all in Newark. 

I can say truly, with my last breath, I never wronged man or 
woman in my life by premeditation, or failed to ask pardon, or to make 
atonement when I could do so. I never bore malice in my life. I 
repent of all my faults and sins, and have endeavored to amend them. 

I die in perfect peace and charity with all men. I ask forgiveness 
of all those against whom I have sinned. I forgive all those who have 
sinned against me, even the woman who called at my own house, and 
set my wife’s thoughts first against me—in proof of it I am sure I 
know her, yet do not name her name. I beg God to forgive me, as I 
forgive all my enemies. I die in perfect faith and trust in my Re¬ 
deemer, and believe in him I shall have eternal life. 

Henry William Herbert. 


To the Press of the United States: 

Before going to my account, I would say a few words to the Press 
of America, and to its conductors, as to men among whom I have, for 
many years, been more or less associated. 

I have my faults, my failings : I have done my share of evil, in my 
life, as all men have done; perhaps I have done my share of good, 
likewise. 

Of my private history few men know any thing—fewer still know 
much—no one knows the whole. It cannot concern the public to 
know any thing. As a writer let me be judged—as a man let my 
God judge me. 

I implore not praise, nor a favorable construction—I implore 
silence. For what I have to account with God. let me account with 
God, and not with man; who may uncertainly perceive and distin- 



xxxii 


A FEW MEMOIRS OF 


guish facts, but certainly cannot perceive causes or divine motives and 
intentions. 

I do not even ask charity; I only implore silence. Let the good 
that I have done, if any, be interred with my bones j let the evil also. 
For the evil, I can say positively, is such as can do no evil after me. 
I have taught, I have inculcated, I have put forth nothing which I did 
not believe to be good and true. In all my life I have written no 
line of which I am ashamed—no word which I desire to blot. 

I have done many things wrongly, many things of which I am 
ashamed, many things of which I have sincerely repented, many 
things, under the pressure of poverty and necessity, to which I am not 
accustomed by my education, which, I hope, I should not do again 
under any temptation. 

I am very sorry. I have been weak at times, and have fallen— 
who has not done so ? 

For justice sake, for charity’s sake, for God’s sake, let me rest. I 
bear an honorable name; I have striven hard, in great trial, in great 
temptation, in a foreign country, in a false position, among men who 
did not, perhaps could not, sympathize with me, to keep it honorable. 
As you would have your own names honored, and your sons preserve 
them to you, I charge you, do not dishonor mine. 

Few will miss me when I am gone; probably none lament me— 
so be it! Only, I implore you, do not misrepresent and malign me. 

Having said this, I have said nearly all—one word more only—if, 
as I presume will be the case, my earnest and hopeful appeal for re¬ 
pose be disregarded—if the vultures of the Press pounce on my cold 
remains, to tear through them the heartstrings of my living relatives 
—to blazon forth all my misdeeds in unblushing colors to the sun— 
let none of my friends—if I have a friend—stand forth to defend me. 
Defence only provokes bitterer attacks, and gives a keener tooth to 
scandal. 

I die forgiving every man who has wronged me, asking forgiveness 
of every man whom I have wronged. I have atoned so far as I know, 
or can atone, for every wrong I have ever done. 

I leave the means, I believe, if they be carefully managed, to pay 
every thing that I owe, and perhaps to leave a small surplus. I never 
shrank, while I was alive, from meeting the consequences of my deeds, 
face to face. I never said a word to a man’s back which I would not 
or did not say to his face. 

Remember now, all you that would assail me, that rmj hack is 
turned , forever—that henceforth, forever, I can disprove no slander 


HENRY WILLIAM HERBERT. XXxiii 

that is spoken of me; that with me no witness can be ever more con¬ 
fronted ; that from no accusation, how false soever, can I prove my¬ 
self not guilty. Of all cowardice, the most base and cruel is to strike 
the dead, who can make no defence or answer. 

I ask no praise—do not praise me—probably I deserve none. 

I deserve reproach, doubtless, for I am mortal, and have sinned. 
Say so, then, of me, if you say any thing, and let my sins go with my 
mortality to His judgment who can tell not only when and where, but 
why they were committed, and how far they have palliation, how far 
they deserve pardon. 

Remember, also, when you judge me, that of all lives mine has 
been, almost, the most unhappy. Ho counsellor, no friend, no country, 
have been mine for six and twenty weary years. Every hope has broken 
down under my foot as soon as it has touched it. Every spark of 
happiness has been quenched as soon as it has been kindled. If I have 
sinned much, and sorrowed much, I have also loved much—more, per¬ 
haps, than I have either sinned or sorrowed. It is the last drop that 
overflows the golden bowl, the last tension that breaks the silver 
cords. My last hope is gone—my last love and my life go together, 
and so good night to 

Henry Herbert. 

May 16,1858. 

At the first announcement of Herbert’s death, his 
friends naturally viewed his last injunction of “ silence ” 
in a positive and forbidding sense, and the following 
hasty, but evidently heartfelt, remarks were immediately 
written by the gifted and renowned a Acorn,” whose 
friendship Herbert had had the honor of enjoying. Surely 
any very bad man could not have caused so spontaneous 
an expression of refined and honorable feelings from his 
literary compeers and associates, especially from one 
whose acquaintance had existed for a quarter of a cen¬ 
tury :— 


HENRY WILLIAM HERBERT. 

“ The evil that men do lives after them; 

The good is oft interred with their bones.” 

The friends of H. W. Herbert, in this city, were appalled at the 
announcement of his death, a few days since. The sad intelligence 


xxxiy 


A FEW MEMOIRS OF 


fell upon the heart of the writer, who has known him for over a 
quarter of a century, like a withering mildew, and, were it not for the 
dying injunction of poor Herbert, that his friends should remain si¬ 
lent, my feeble pen, directed by the best energies of my brain, should 
reveal the deep sympathies of my heart for one whose life, although 
somewhat wayward, was nevertheless marked by many virtues and 
bright deeds. 

Henry William Herbert, the brilliant genius and rare scholar, is 
in his grave! 

“ After life’s fitful fever he sleeps well.’ r 

For charity’s sake, let not the sanctity of that grave be desecrated by 
heartless or unfeeling scribblers, simply to feed or gratify the appetites 
or morbid tastes of those whose wicked and malignant slanders were 
mainly instrumental in wrecking so bright a mind ! After frenzying 
that once noble intellect, and sending its owner unbidden into the 
presence of his Maker, may we not hope, for humanity’s sake, that 
the portals of the grave may be a barrier against the poisonous tongue 
of the earth’s greatest pestilence—the slanderer ! 

For the sake of those whose veins bear kindred blood, and whose 
hearts and spirits are now bowed down to the dust, forbear, I implore 
you, and no longer aim your poisoned and malignant arrows of re¬ 
venge at the dead, through the already lacerated spirits of the Jiving! 
But let the faults and the weaknesses of him, whose earthly career 
met so melancholy and fearful an end, slumber in silence with his 
ashes in the tomb ! For mercy’s sake, let his kind acts and charitable 
deeds, only, rest in the minds of his fellow-men, for many such acts 
and deeds are known to the writer, which will assuredly be placed to 
the credit of him who has gone to his account, at the final judgment 
day. Were it not for violating the last request of this extraordinary 
man, I would reveal many bright and manly characteristics j but the 
observance of a request, made almost with his expiring breath, for¬ 
bids, and tells me to drop a curtain over his grave, on which to write 
in letters of gold —Silence ! Peace to the ashes of Henry W illiam 
Herbert ! 

Aoorn. 

Boston, May 22,1858. 


It is of such a man as Herbert we now proceed to 
speak. Among the private letters left to Mr. Anthon, 


HENRY WILLIAM HERBERT. 


XXXY 


whom he appointed as his • executor, was the following, 
addressed to Mr. I’Anson, a right trusty and well-beloved 
neighbor, in Newark:— 


My Dear Miles I’ Anson: The time has come, and I call upon you 
with the last words of a dying countryman to come and perform your 
promise. My last friend, do not fail me. 

"When you receive this I shall be lying dead in the cemetery. I 
could not be easy in New York, and I must not be buried in the Pot¬ 
ter’s Field or by charity. 

Have me dressed in the clothes which T have put in the carpet bag, 
with the little packet I have sewn to the shirt upon my heart, 
and the pin-cushion with u Herbert ” pricked upon it, under my head 
—a plain oaken coffin, with this inscription only: “Henry William 
Herbert—aged 51.” 

Let me be buried in your lot; send the coffin down by the steamer; 
no funeral and no pomp. I send a note to Mr. Shackleford; he will 
perform the service. 

I enclose a draft for ten pounds sterling on my sister, which will 
pay all expenses; I have written to her. Come the moment you re¬ 
ceive this, or you will be too late, and they will thrust me into some hole 
away from humanity. She has refused all reconciliation absolutely 
and forever, but she is not to blame, and it is my last request that no 
friend of mine will blame her or defend me, except to say what I solemn¬ 
ly swear with my dying breath, that I did not marry her for money— 
that I did not know when I married her, and do not know now, 
whether she has any money or how much—that I never had a word 
or dispute with her about money, and never said one unkind word 
until that Monday, when I threatened my life if she would not tell 
me who had accused me to her falsely. 

God forgive and God bless her! I forgive all men who have 
wronged me, and ask forgiveness of all whom I have wronged. Every 
shilling I owe in America will be paid from the lease of the house 
and the books I leave behind me, ready to be published. 

Give my best parting love to all my friends, think of me sometimes 
as a most miserable man, yet your true friend, 

Henry Wm. Herbert, Stevens House. 

May 15,1858. 


VOL. I. 


3 


xxxvi 


A FEW MEMOIRS OF 


I wish to have a very small, very plain headstone, of Little Falls, 
or Belleville stone, with this inscription: 

HENRY WILLIAM HERBERT, 
of 

ENGLAND, 

Aged 51 years. 

Infelicissimus. 

Will you take care of Yixen ? She has been my only comfort. 
She has never left me for one moment. I am sure she knows I am 
wretched. God bless you and your wife ! 

Here we may perceive how bravely the fine spirit of 
“ Frank Forester ” continues to shine out, even from the 
shattered mind of H. W. Herbert. He cannot bear the 
thought of being buried “ away from humanity.” Ho, 
indeed. Then, with regard to poor little Yixen, (a black- 
and-tan favorite among his dogs,) he is quite sure that 
“she knows I am wretched.” Another of the private 
letters, directed to one of Herbert’s most esteemed friends, 
reads as follows, and shows the chivalry of a spirit which 
could not bear to be suspected :— 

II My Hear - What is done is done and cannot be undone. 1 

know you will blame and probably despise me; but the strength of 
one man is the weakness of another, and I could not endure the agony 
I have been suffering. 

If ever I have vexed, wronged, or offended you, I sincerely and 
humbly beg your pardon. 

As the last request of a dying man, I entreat you, on account of 
this , not to throw up my affairs, but to endeavor to settle them fully. 
I am satisfied that with the rent of the Cedars and my own goods, 
&c., there will be enough to pay every thing that I owe on earth. 

I have the manuscript of three books all ready for the press, which 
ought to produce at least $1000, and I think that in view of this act 
of mine, good or bad, they would sell even now— 

***** * * * 

I assure you that I have received a letter from my beloved wife, 


HENRY WILLIAM HERBERT. 


xxxvii 


which exonerates her of all blame, except for oyer-credulousness, 
sensitiveness, and a weak fear of me, who would have died a hundred 
times rather than harm her. I entreat you as my last request, not 
only not to speak, but not to think unkindly of her. 

Never seek to defend my memory at any suit to her discredit— 
only you can assert, for I consulted you before we were married, and 
you know it, that I never cared, much less knew, or inquired any 
thing about her property or troubled her about it. 

Remember, always, that I love her beyond any thing on earth. I 
would even ask you, if it ever be in your power, to protect and assist 
her as my beloved widow. ***** 

Fare you well, old friend; think sometimes of old days, and your 
friend, 

Henry Wm. Herbert. 

The general directions for the funeral (which had an 
attendance of the highest respectability) were faithfully 
obeyed. The corpse was taken to “ the Cedars,’’ and here 
the picture of desolation, caused by the sudden stoppage 
of all “ Frank Forester’s ” little plans of comfort and use¬ 
fulness, seemed sad indeed. Here it was that he had 
hoped to entwine the jessamine of amiability and the lin¬ 
den of conjugal affection among the cedars of glory which 
tower to the skies. But now, under a clouded aberration, 
of his usual life-hearty intellect, our own well-beloved 
“ Frank Forester ” had thrown himself into the arms of 
Death, as if irresistibly impelled by the chastening rod 
of a sorrow which was more than he could endure:— 


“Dear, beauteous Death! thou jewel of the just, 

Shining nowhere but in the dark! 

What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust, 

Could man out-look the mark! ” 

As the deceased gentleman was himself the son of a 
minister in the Episcopal communion, and well knew that 
the rubrics of the “ Book of Common Prayer ” forbid any 


xxxviii 


A FEW MEMOIRS OF 


minister under that discipline to perform funeral services 
at the grave of persons who may have committed suicide, 
the proceedings on the present occasion were somewhat 
novel. Eev. Mr. Shackleford, the clergyman officiating 
at the marriage of Herbert with his last wife, was pres¬ 
ent; and, after the company had taken a last look at the 
corpse, the reverend gentleman alluded to the above cir¬ 
cumstances, and regretted that his obligations of duty 
forbade him to appear in any other capacity than as a 
friend of the deceased, whose faults (he felt sure) were all 
on the surface of his character , but whose virtues were more 
numerous than could be generally known. All true friends 
of the dear, departed Herbert, would therefore follow the 
remains slowly and silently to the grave, and see them 
slowly and silently interred, with only those expressions 
which might be suggested or occur from a mute sorrow. 
Expressing a hope that the God above, who alone can 
judge of sincerity of heart, would have mercy upon the 
soul of the deceased, and of all those now present, the 
reverend gentleman concluded his remarks, and a silent 
sorrow pervaded the entire assemblage. 

The procession passed through the gate by which the 
grounds of Mount Pleasant Cemetery, adjoining “ the Ce¬ 
dars,” are entered. It was at this spot where Herbert 
and his wife shared that kiss which became a parting kiss, 
and where, according to the letter left for Mr. P Anson, 
Herbert expected to die. Some green twigs from the 
neighboring trees were sadly but hopefully thrown upon 
the coffin, and the assemblage departed. 


“ Youth flies, life decays, even hope is o’ercast; 

No more with love’s former devotion we sue: 

He spreads his young wing, he retires with the blast; 
The shroud of affection is love’s last adieu I ” 


HENRY WILLIAM HERBERT. 


XXXIX 


Probably ho man ever lived who was *nore likely to 
realize the poetical measure of misery indicated by such 
a case, as we find it expressed in Anacreontic lyrics, and 
familiarized in Byronian lines than Herbert:— 

********** 

4< Ok! mark you yon pair: in the sunshine of youth 

Love twined round their childhood his flowers as they grew; 

They flourish awhile in the season of truth, 

Till chill’d hy the winter of love’s last adieu! ” 

* * * * * * * * * * 

“ In vain with endearments we soothe the sad heart, 

In vain do we vow for an age to he true; 

The chance of an hour may command us to part, 

Or death disunite us in love’s last adieu! ” 


The circumstances attending Herbert’s second mar¬ 
riage were much more romantic than those of the first, 
but we prefer to leave these matters for the developments 
of time and legal investigation. We feel free to say, 
however, that Herbert has been “ more sinned against 
than sinning.” As for his striking a woman, or caring 
about her money, that might have been possible—when 
sky-larks run a quarter-race or eagles play at skittles. 

Notwithstanding Herbert’s own estimation of the feel¬ 
ings entertained towards him in Hewark, and around the 
neighborhood of his residence, there need be no doubt 
(and it is a matter of pride to observe the fact now) that 
he was mistaken on that matter, so far as regards the 
respectable portion of the population. It was a part of 
the great error which his mind labored under. The news 
of his death was received with expressions of general 


xl 


A FEW MEMOIRS OF 


regret, as well as causing the grief of those associates 
who might well say, in old Roman style,— 

“ Friends, I owe more tears 
To this dead man than thou shalt see me pay.” 

Mr. Thos. T. Kinney, the talented editor of the “ New¬ 
ark Daily Advertiser,” seems to have been a constant and 
particular friend of the lamented Herbert. The most 
authentic statements of Herbert’s last troubles may be 
found in the columns of that admirable journal, and Mr. 
Kinney now has in his possession the little black-and-tan 
terrier, Yixen, poor “Frank Forester’s” true friend, who 
remained faithful to the last, winning from him the title 
of his “ only comfort.” Many persons connected with the 
New York book-trade reside in that part of New Jersey, 
and were, more or less, acquainted with Herbert, but we 
know of no one who has not acknowledged a pang of 
grief on learning the untimely end of “ Frank Forester,” 
the gay and rollicking preceptor of Young America in 
the “ gentle science of woodcraft,” that science which is 
always ancient and ever new to youthful hearts and em¬ 
ulative spirits. 

The omission of certain ceremonies at the grave of 
poor Herbert may furnish some satisfaction to the vul¬ 
tures of vituperation. Herbert well knew this. His 
words to Rev. Mr. Shackleford were, “ Do the best you 
can for me.” But, that Herbert’s friends were numerous 
and enthusiastic in the place of his residence, may be in¬ 
ferred from the fact that when Rev. Henry B. Sherman, 
Rector of Christ Church, Belleville, N. J., offered to 
second any judicious compromise which might be sug¬ 
gested to save Herbert’s body from being consigned to 
the grave without some token of Christian burial, the 
reverend gentleman’s kindness met with a prompt response 


HENRY WILLIAM HERBERT. 


xli 


as a kindness (for his action was courteously dispensed 
with), by a large number of the most influential citizens 
of Newark and vicinity, as soon as they understood the 
circumstances of the case. A testimonial to Mr. Sher¬ 
man was subscribed for, and we append the document as 
a sufficient refutation of the absurd slander that Herbert 
lacked friends in the place where he was best known. 
The signers are all fair “ representative men,” well quali¬ 
fied to speak for Newark:— 

The subscribers, desirous of showing their regard for the Rev. 
Henry B. Sherman, of Belleville, and especially their admiration of 
his conduct at the funeral of the late Henry W. Herbert, in his wil¬ 
lingness to perform some Christian ceremony over the grave of the 
deceased, cheerfully contribute to the amount necessary to procure a 


suitable testimonial. 


John Morrison, 

Wm. S. Faitoute, 

Wm. T. Mercer, 

I. M. Andruss, 

F. H. Dawes, 

Abram Coles, M. D., 

F. E. Berier, 

James Ross, 

E. A. Carman, 

R. B. Hathorn, 

Geo. B. Halsted, 

Cortlandt Parker, 

Alex. 1ST. Dougherty, M. D., 

0. H. Halsted, Jr., 

F. W. Ricord, 

H. B. Miller, 

Thos. B. Peddie, 

A. Schalk, 

Thos. T. Kinney, 

H. Schalk, 

A. Bigelow, 

0. T. Zeigler, 

J. P. Pennington, 

A. M. W. Ball, 

Lewis C. Grover, 

T. Seaman, 

J. D. Orton, 

Morris R. Hamilton, 

Cornelius W. Tolies, 

N. N. Halsted, 

J. Callaway, 

J. A. Pennington, 

G. Grant, M. D., 

Richmond Ward, 

Bethuel Lr. Dodd, M. D., 

A. Jackson Drake, IJ. S. 1ST., 

Silas Merchant, 

J. Southard. 


A beautifully bound copy of Herbert’s “ Horse and 
Horsemanship of America,” his most elaborated and com- 


xlii 


A FEW MEMOIRS OF 


plete work, one of the most splendid books produced by 
the arts of printing, engraving, and binding,—acknowl¬ 
edged to be the best work of the kind in the world, 
and the most successful publication of its class by sub¬ 
scription,—was presented to Mr. Sherman as the most 
appropriate and acceptable gift they could select, and the 
presentation was acconppanied by a spirited and suitable 
letter from Mr. F. W. Ricord, chairman of the committee 
having the matter in charge. The Rev. Henry B. Sher¬ 
man’s letter of acknowledgment does him great honor; 
and the whole proceedings show that both national feel¬ 
ing and Christian sentiment were warmly enlisted on be¬ 
half of the unfortunate deceased, notwithstanding his 
many eccentricities. Let it not be said on either side of 
the Atlantic, for it is not true, that Americans ever failed 
to reward the talents of Frank Forester.” 

What was Herbert is now “ Frank Forester,” for ever, 
in American literature. The latter was not exactly “ the 
Persian rose ” but “ the flower that grew beside it,” and 
now we can hardly tell which most attracts the admira¬ 
tion of the world. 

There is a grand moral to be drawn from Herbert’s 
untimely fate. It teaches us that if even he, out among 
the fields with his dog and gun, or cantering along the 
road with a free-breathing courser, or tickling the trout 
out of their native streams, even he—the all-conquering 
“Frank Forester”—must succumb to consuming cares 
and hopeless passions, how requisite it is for all of us to 
be on our guard against falling into a similar abnormal 
state, by patronizing a due share of field sports, or at least 
some stated relaxations from business by the aid of travel 
and agreeable society. To professional and literary men, 
especially, Herbert’s case is full of warning, and their 
matrimonial partners would do well to learn that society 
has “ rights ” as well as individuals. A more conserva- 


HENRY WILLIAM HERBERT. xliii 

tive tone of action seems needed by all classes, and the 
cultivation of suitable out-door sports for the people is a 
subject worthy of the wisdom of a second Washington. 

Herbert had all the self-sustaining hardihood of a 
Dante with the fertile aptitude of a Brougham. But, 
look at the dreadful cost of such efforts. See the morbid 
irritability of Johnson, Pope, or Byron. See the tumble- 
down helplessness of Tom Moore, and even the carefully 
conservative Bob Southey, in their old days. Hark to 
the plaintive cries from Tasso’s cell. Observe the fierce 
insanity of Collins or Swift. What should we say of Poe, 
or Lippard, or North ? What should we say of those who 
are said to “ die young ” in the vain attempt at literary 
glory? Our own Tuckerman has judiciously observed 
that “ God is not less worshipped by select intelligences, 
through fidelity to the natural laws, than by celebrating 
his glory in the triumphs of art.” The sad case of Hugh 
Miller must be fresh in the minds of our readers, as that 
of the great devotional geologist who lately shot himself 
in Scotland, while in his studio, surrounded by fame, easy 
circumstances, and the consolations of religion. And yet, 
so dreadful are the life-exhausting effects of severe study, 
that only the very thoughtless would dare to sit in judg¬ 
ment on its unfortunate victims. 

To the credit of Herbert, “ Our Own Frank Forester,” 
we may say that his field sports did save him from 
dwindling down to a misanthrope. Let us be thankful 
that he did not reach that deplorable degree of mental 
degradation. A lover of Nature cannot harbor a very 
bad heart. Hence we find that Herbert did not leave his 
ever-faithful “ Vixen ” unprovided for; and, so far from 
being any thing like a misanthrope, lie begs and prays 
that he may not be buried “ away from humanity.” 

That Herbert’s intellectual powers had been by no 
means impaired, but were on an increase of ability, can 


xliv 


A FEW MEMOIRS OF 


be easily seen in his latest writings. Among these we 
may mention the beautiful story of u Omemees,” which 
he commenced in “ Porter’s Spirit of the Times,” when 
that admirable sporting paper was started by Messrs. 
Porter and Wilkes, in September, 1856. The opening 
paragraph of this interesting tale is one of the finest de¬ 
scriptions of the loveliness of a September morning, 
among American scenery, that ever was written in prose. 
The whole contribution reads as if its author was anxious 
to repay the fostering kindness of his old friend of “ the 
Spirit;” and W. T. Porter’s associate editor, George 
Wilkes, very properly called public attention to it, in 
their first number, as a u loud, ringing peal from the cla¬ 
rion of Frank Forester.” And so it is, now ringing in our 
ears more sweetly sonorous than ever, inspiring renewed 
reverberations every year among those hearts which can 
enjoy the glories of our September landscapes. 

Perhaps the day may not be far distant when the im¬ 
portance of “ condition ” will be familiarly understood to 
have quite as much influence upon mankind as upon the 
lower animals. If Herbert had had the timely benefit of 
good medical advice, or—what is much more rarely found 
—the wisdom of docility in obedience to its teachings, he 
might, in all probability, so far as human calculation 
could tell, have been spared for a longer and more useful 
life, cheering us with the continued creations of his 
charming pen. 

Scarcely any class of men are so apt to “ break down ” 
as public writers. Critical and splenetic by acquired 
habits, if not by nature, engaged in a sedentary employ¬ 
ment, and continually forcing the activity of their cere¬ 
bral region, all at once, when, perhaps, their most intimate 
friends may not think of the real cause, the balance of 
judgment—or, what amounts to the same in practice, “ the 
blood and. judgment are not well commingled is thus 


HENRY WILLIAM HERBERT. 


xlv 


set aside. This misfortune may or may not assume a very 
decisive or sudden character in outward appearance, any 
more than other forms of monomania need necessarily be 
violent in their demonstrations. But, it is at work, nev¬ 
ertheless, and interfering with the normal coherence of 
ideas, especially if any acrimony of the blood is allowed 
to remain long enough for the creation of morbid humors. 
In all the arrangements made by Herbert for his suicide, 
funeral, etc., the usual vigor of his intellect expresses 
itself in the remarkably precise and deliberate directions 
he so rapidly gave in writing. He is “ all right,” except 
on the u one idea ”—and this wrong idea (without being, 
perhaps, perceptible to unpractised observers) was the 
result of a morbid condition—gradually superinducing an 
abnormal mentality—like the last efforts of an expiring 
flame, which finally destroys itself. 

There need be no doubt that if Herbert’s brain, plexus, 
arterial system, etc., had been restored to their usually 
harmonized degree of “ condition,” so noble and gifted a 
mind—instead of wrongfully supposing itself to be in the 
right—would never have committed the sad error of judg¬ 
ment we now so deeply deplore. The peculiar phase of 
phrenitis he labored under appears to have been quite 
sufficient for gradually taking away his moral accounta¬ 
bility. The lesson is sometimes taught to the most gifted 
minds—before they leave this sublunary sphere—that 
Heaven is our only Friend, our only Refuge, our only 
Saviour. Let us, therefore, fervently hope that human 
charity will leave poor Herbert’s final error to the only 
Power capable of judging that and all his other failings. 

These failings—or whatever they may be termed—are 
not mentioned here from any morbid desire to parade 
them in connection with so bright an example; for, be it 
remembered that, down to the last of Herbert’s instruc¬ 
tive life, the very manner of the unfortunate—most unfor- 


Xlvi HENRY WILLIAM HERBERT. 

tun ate—gentleman’s death is one more additional proof 
of how much we all need greater regard for out-of-door 
sports, conversational hilarity, or heavenly aspirations, 
while less attention should be given to corroding cares, 
passionate impulses, or rash conclusions. We have merely 
endeavored to impartially describe that “Frank Forester” 
whose gentle, but proud spirit, scorned the vulgarity of 
carving his name upon the rising tree of American great¬ 
ness in any manner that could possibly injure any other 
person, but has derived his principal pleasure while living 
—and liis most glorious fame after death—from the fact 
that as soon as we take up one of his books, that noble 
spirit—sweetly responsive to our own—seems to take us 
also by the hand, leading us forth into forest wild or 
homestead beautiful, where we may willingly acknowl¬ 
edge the magic sway of the original and creative “ Frank 
Forester” himself, while he guides our field sports, sug¬ 
gests our healthy pastimes, teaches us to tread lightly 
among those beautiful flowers which the poets well de¬ 
scribe as “ the scriptures of the earth,” or imparts an ad¬ 
ditional tone of elegance to those charming family circles 
where eyes of light and forms of beauty come forth to 
grace the scene. 

Much more—very much more—might be written by 
pens competent or worthy to discuss the memoirs of 
Henry William Herbert. Less we could not have said, 
in ordinary justice. After all, while conscious of the 
comparative incompleteness of our effort, and we have 
said our say, or sung our lay, as best we may, 


“ The rest—let Sorrow say. ! 


FIELD SPORTS 


OF THE 


UNITED STATES AND BRITISH PROVINCES. 


N the occasion of commencing, it 
is now several years ago, a series 
of papers in a leading monthly 
magazine , u On the Game of North 
America, its nomenclature, habits, 
haunts, and seasons; with hints 
on the science of woodcraft”—I 
introduced the subject, by the fol¬ 
lowing general remarks, and it ap¬ 
pears to me that, inasmuch as they are not only still applicable, 
but have in effect become more and more evidently true, owing 
to the lapse of time since their publication, during which the 
evils complained of have increased tenfold, I cannot do better 
than repeat them, as entirely germane to the matter, and as 
aptly introductory to that which is to follow. 

u There is, perhaps,” I remarked, u no country in the world 
which presents, to the sportsman, so long a catalogue of the 




12 FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 

choicest game, whether of fur, fin, or feather, as the United 
States of North America ; there is none, probably, which counts 
more numerous, or more ardent, devotees ; there is none, cer¬ 
tainly, in which the wide-spread passion for the chase can be 
indulged, under so few restrictions, and at an expense so trifling. 

“ Yet all this, notwithstanding, it is to be regretted greatly that 
there is no country in w'hich the nomenclature of these ferce na¬ 
tures , these roving denizens of wood, wold and water, is so con¬ 
fused and unscientific ; none, in which their habits are so little 
known, and their seasons so little regarded ; none, in which the 
gentle craft of Venerjeis so often degraded into mere pot-hunting; 
and none, in which, as a natural consequence, the game that 
swarmed of yore in all the fields and forests, in all the lakes, 
rivers, bays, and creeks of its vast territory, are in such peril 
of becoming speedily extinct. 

“ That in a nation, every male inhabitant of which is, with 
but rare exceptions, a hunter, and ready with the gun almost 
beyond example, this should be the case, can be explained only 
by the fact that, as I have said before, little is known generally 
of the habits of game ; and that the rarest and choicest species 
are slaughtered inconsiderately, not perhaps wantonly, at such 
times and in such manners, as are rapidly causing them to disap¬ 
pear and become extinct. 

u That such is the case, can be proved in a few words, and 
by reference to a few examples. The most evident, perhaps, 
of these, is the absolute extinction of that noble bird, the Heath- 
Hen, or Pinnated Grouse , Tetrao Cupido, on Long Island, 
where, within the memory of our elder sportsmen, they might 
be taken in abundance at the proper season, but where not a 
solitary bird has been seen for years. In the pines on the south¬ 
western shores of New Jersey, and in the oak-barrens of north¬ 
eastern Pennsylvania, the same birds were also plentiful within 
a few years ; but now they are already rarce aves ; and, after a 
few more returns of the rapidly succeeding seasons, they will be 
entirely unknown in their old-accustomed places.” 

The same thing is the case, in a yet greater degree, with re- 


INTRODUCTORY OBSERVATIONS. 


13 


gard to the Wild Turkey. It is not yet half a century since 
these birds, the noblest wild game of the Gallinaceous order, 
abounded on the slopes of the Warwick and Musconetcong 
Mountains ; in the Shawangunks ; and, in a word, throughout 
the whole length of the great chain, which connects the White 
Mountains of the north, with the Alleghanies proper. I have 
myself conversed with sportsmen, in the river counties of New 
York, who, in their boyhood, thought less of killing their half- 
dozen Wild Turkeys in the morning, than we should now-a-days 
of bagging as many Ruffed Grouse. At present, with the ex¬ 
ception of a few stragglers which, I believe, still exist on the 
Connecticut, about the rocky steeps of Mount Tom and Mount 
Holyoake, and a single drove, which are reported to be seen 
occasionally among the hill-fastnesses at the lower end of the 
Greenwood Lake, on the frontiers of New York and New Jersey, 
none are to be found until we reach the western regions of 
Pennsylvania. And, in fact, as a bird of sport, they are not , 
any where on the eastern side of the great Apalachian chain. 

The Deer and the greater American Hare, which turns white 
in winter, are likewise already extinct in many places, 
where both could be captured, within the last twenty years, 
in such numbers as to afford both sport and profit to their pur¬ 
suers. 

In New Jersey, and in New York, south of the forty-second 
degree of north latitude, with the exception of a small number 
carefully preserved on the brush-plains of Long Island, the Deer, 
Cervus Virginianus, has ceased to exist. And it requires no 
prophetic eye to see the day when this pride of the North Ame¬ 
rican forest shall have ceased to have its habitation any where 
eastward of Pennsylvania; unless it be in the remote northern 
forests of Maine, in the mountains of New Hampshire and Ver¬ 
mont, and in that small district of New York, lying between the 
head waters of the Hudson, Lake Champlain, the St. Lawrence, 
and the eastern extremity of Ontario—which latter tract, owing- 
to its singularly rugged and unproductive character, will proba¬ 
bly contain the Deer, the Moose, the Cariboo, the Panther, and 


14 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


even the Beaver, after they shall have become extinct, even in the 
far West. 

It has been alleged, and by many is doubtless believed to be 
true, that the increase of population, the spread of cultivation, 
and the transfiguration of the woods and wastes into corn-lands 
and pastures, are in themselves an all-sufficient and irremediable 
cause for the disappearance of all the various kinds of game, the 
extinction of which the sportsman and the naturalist alike 
deplore. 

Were this the case, it would be needless to waste words on 
the subject—but so far is it from being the case, that with regard 
to very many kinds of game—several of those already 
cited, and others, which, though still numerous, will ere long 
be in the same predicament, so rapidly are they decreasing- -the 
very converse of the proposition is true. 

The Wild Turkey, the Pinnated Grouse, and its congener, the 
Ruffed Grouse, as also the much rarer bird of the same order, 
commonly known as the Spruce Partridge—the very existence 
of which was unknown to Wilson—all unquestionably do make 
their homes in the wilderness, the last-named there exclusively. 
But all the others, without exception, prefer the vicinity of cul¬ 
tivated regions on account of the plenty and choicer quality of 
the food ; and are found nowhere in such abundance as in those 
localities, which afford the combination of rough wild lying- 
ground, with highly cultivated land, on which to feed at morn 
and dewy eve. 

Thus, in the Eastern States, if you are in pursuit of the Ruffed 
Grouse, the surest places where to flush your game will not be 
the depths of the cedar swamp, or the summit of the mountain 
horrid with pine and hemlock, but on the slopes and ledges 
falling down to the cultivated vales, and in the skirts of briary 
woodlands, or in the red-cedar knolls, which remain yet unshorn 
in the midst of maize and buckwheat fields, which never fail to 
tempt this mountain-loving bird from his native fastnesses. 

In like manner, in the West, it is on the prairie, but in the 
vicinity of the boundless tracts of maize and wheat, which the 
industry of the white man has spread out over the hunting- 


INTRODUCTORY OBSERVATIONS. 


15 


grounds of the Indian, that the Pinnated Grouse is to be found 
in millions ; and the Turkey in similar situations, where the 
forest encircles the yet isolated clearings of the agricultural 
pioneer. 

Thus, of these three species, it is untrue that the spread of 
cultivation, unless in .so far as that involves the increased 
numbers and increased persecution of the cultivators, has any 
detrimental effect on their propagation, or in anywise tends to 
decrease their numbers. For centuries yet to come, let Ame¬ 
rican industry develope and extend American agriculture as 
rapidly as it may, there will be woodlands and wilds in abun¬ 
dance to furnish shelter for any quantity of game; and there 
will always be fastnesses innumerable, which never will, be¬ 
cause they never can , be cleared, owing to the roughness of 
their surface, and the sterility of their soil, whether from eleva¬ 
tion above the sea, rockiness or swampiness of situation, or 
other natural causes, which it needs not to enumerate. 

Other species of game, so far from flying cultivation, or ab¬ 
horring the vicinity of civilized man, are literally not to be found 
except where the works of the ox and the man are conspicu¬ 
ous ; never being seen at all in the wilderness proper, and 
giving cause for some speculation as to their whereabouts, 
their haunts, their habits, if not their existence on the conti¬ 
nent, previous to the arrival of civilized man, from realms 
nearer to the sun. 

Neither the Woodcock nor the Quail, Scolopax Minor, and 
Perdix, sive Ortyx Virginian a, are ever found in the depths 
of the untamed forest, aloof from human habitations ; though 
both genera frequent, nay require, woodland, as a sine qua non , 
for their habitation. Moreover, in places where they are entirely 
unknown to the first settlers, where they do not in fact exist at 
all, they speedily become abundant, so soon as the axe levels 
the umbrageous forest, and the admitted sunbeams awaken or 
mature the germs of that animal or vegetable life, on which the 
birds subsist. 

This is, I presume, so generally known as a fact, that no proof 
thereof is necessary. I may, however, mention two or three 
VOL. i. 4 


16 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


very distinct and remarkable instances of this fact, which have 
come under my own observation ; one with regard to the in¬ 
crease and spread of Quail, the others of Woodcock, into loca¬ 
lities where they were previously unknown. Some seventeen 
years ago, I visited Niagara Falls for the first time, and travelled 
westward so far as the upper waters of the Thames and 
the Chenail Ecartk in Canada West, shooting a little when oc¬ 
casion offered, and making many enquiries concerning the va¬ 
rieties of game, and the habits of those to be found in the prov¬ 
ince. At that time, I enjoyed some extremely good Snipe 
shooting, close to the village of Niagara, at the embouchure 
of the river into Lake Ontario ; and, in fact, I saw more birds, 
and those tamer, than in any other place where I have ever shot 
them. I had no dog with me, and was completely ignorant of 
the country ; but in such multitudes were the Snipe feeding in 
every fallow-field and maize stubble—it was in the spring, 
immediately on the breaking of the frost—that I made a very 
large bag, in the course of a very few hours. At that period, 
the Woodcock was just becoming known on the frontier; and 
a few birds were killed in the season ; they were, however, still 
extremely rare, and had been known, comparatively speaking, 
but a short time. Quail were utterly unknown, both in the 
Province and on the American side of the river. I had not 
journeyed many miles, ere I had outstripped the Woodcock; 
and I could gain no tidings of his existence beyond the Ouse, 
or Grand River of the Mohawks. At this moment, probably, 
the best Woodcock shooting on the continent is to be obtained 
in the islands situate at the western end of Lake Erie, in the 
Detroit River, and in Lake St. Clair. Quail are also becoming 
exceedingly plentiful throughout that region. 

In the same manner, in the Eastern States, until within the 
last six years, the Woodcock has been unknown on the Penob¬ 
scot River, although abundant in the vicinity of Portland and 
Casco Bay, and in the older settlements on the Kennebec. What 
renders it more evident, in the latter case, that it is the absence 
of civilization and not the severity of the climate, which 


INTRODUCTORY OBSERVATIONS. 


17 


nas so long deterred this bird of passage from visiting the east¬ 
ern parts of Maine, is the fact that, in the British Provinces of 
New Brunswick and Nova Scotia, much farther to the north¬ 
ward and eastward, and in the old cultivated French country 
below and around Quebec, the Woodcock has long been an 
object of pursuit by the sportsman, and of attainment by the 
gourmet. 

It may, therefore, be assumed at once, that the spread of agri¬ 
culture and civilization, in themselves, has no injurious operation, 
but rather the reverse, on any kind of winged game; and that, 
in some instances, the progress of one is simultaneous with the 
increased numbers of the other. 

Even with game of the largest kind, .as Deer, Bear, Hares, 
and the like, it is not the circumscription of their limits by 
ploughed fields, but the ruthless persecution to which they are 
subjected, which is gradually extinguishing them, where, within 
ten or fifteen years, they abounded. 

In the counties of Hampshire and Berkshire, in Massachusetts, 
of Dutchess, Putnam, Rockland and Orange in New York, and of 
Sussex, in New Jersey, there is an extent of forest land, wilder 
and more inaccessible, and in every way more suited to harbor 
herds of Deer, and ten times greater, than all the Deer forests in 
the Highlands of Scotland; in the former, you have perhaps rather 
a greater chance of meeting an elephant, thanks to the abundance 
of menageries, than a hart or hind—in the latter, the Red Deer 
are more numerous now than they were two centuries ago. 

Hence it is evident, that there is no natural reason whatever, 
much less a necessary or inevitable one, for the rapid decrease 
and approaching extinction of all kinds of game, whether large 
or small, throughout the United States of America. Nor is it to be 
attributed to any other cause than the reckless and ignorant, it 
not wanton, destruction of these animals by the rural population. 

The destruction of the Pinnated Grouse, which is total on 
Long Island, and all but total in New Jersey and the Pennsyl¬ 
vania oak-barrens, is ascribable to the brutal and wholly wanton 
havoc committed among them by the charcoal-burners, who fre- 


18 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


quent those wooded districts; and who, not content with destroy¬ 
ing the parent birds, at all seasons, even while hatching and ho¬ 
vering their broods, shooting the half-fledged cheepers in whole 
hatchings at a shot, and trapping them in deep snows—with a 
degree of wantonness equally barbarous and unmeaning, steal 
or break all the eggs which they can find. 

To this add the spring burnings of the forest land, and you have 
cause enough to account for the extermination of the Pinnated 
Grouse, or Heath-Hen ; who is not now to be shot in such num¬ 
bers as to render it worth the while to hunt for him nearer than 
Michigan or Illinois. 

I should, perhaps, here state as a farther proof of the correct¬ 
ness of my assertion, that, on the little island of Martha’s Vine¬ 
yard, off the coast of Massachusetts, where the Heath-Cock, once 
abundant, had nearly become extinct, the species was preserved 
from annihilation by the very praiseworthy means, equally de¬ 
termined and energetical, adopted by the citizens in general to 
prevent its extermination. 

This fine bird is again plentiful in that, its last locality, on the 
Atlantic coast; and it is like to remain so, as the people take an 
honorable pride in preserving it, and neither kill it themselves, 
nor allow visitors to do so, except in the proper seasons, and 
under restrictions as to numbers. For a space, I believe, of five 
years the prohibition to kill was absolute ; and the fine so heavy, 
and so rigorously enforced—backed as it was by public opinion 
—that the desired end was gained. 

The period, if I am not mistaken, for which the Grouse bar¬ 
rens were closed has expired, and, under some limitations, of the 
the nature of which I am not exactly aware, they may be visited 
by sportsmen henceforth. 

The destruction of the smaller and more abundant species is to 
be attributed to different reasons—but the operation of these is 
more rapid and more fatal than those which have led to the ex¬ 
tinction of the races we have mentioned. 

The first of these causes is the very singular, if not incompre¬ 
hensible, characteristic of the people of the United States, to dis- 


INTRODUCTORY OBSERVATIONS 


19 


regard and violate all laws, even laws of their own making—the 
second, the apathy of the rural population with respect to game, 
and the error into which they have fallen of regarding all game- 
laws as passed to their detriment, and for the pleasure of the dwel¬ 
lers in cities—the third is, the dishonest gluttony of all classes 
in the cities, with the exception of a few sportsmen—and the 
last, horresco referens , the selfishness and want of union among 
themselves of genuine sportsmen. 

With regard to the first of the reasons laid down here, it may 
be taken as a matter of fact that no man, boy or fool, in the coun¬ 
try , abstains from killing game, in or out of season, for fear of the 
law ; and that no farmer or landholder will ever give information 
against the violation of this law, though so far is he from being 
now-litigious, that one of the principal pleasures of his life is the 
sueing his neighbors for the smallest possible sums. The ex¬ 
ceeding fondness of the population in general for recourse to civil, 
and their equally evident disregard of criminal, law, is one of the 
phenomena of the country, and the age in which we live. 

Secondly ; the apathy of the farmer arises naturally enough 
from this, that all he has heard of game-laws in foreign lands is 
in connection with feudal rights, individual privileges, and nomi¬ 
nal distinctions, which are certainly everywhere more or less 
vexatious, and in some places really injurious to classes—al¬ 
though far less so than Americans are led to believe by the 
demagogue orators and editors from whom they obtain their in¬ 
formation on this topic, as on most others of the internal eco¬ 
nomy of foreign countries. 

It is needless to state that the game-laws of the United States 
have no such bearing whatsoever ; and are intended solely to pro¬ 
tect the animals in question, during the periods of nidification, 
incubation, and providing for the youthful broods. 

Remarkably enough, it has so happened in this country, ow¬ 
ing to the non-residence of wealthy and otiose men in the rural 
districts of the Northern States, that until very recently all ap¬ 
plication for and amendments of game-laws have emanated from 
the dwellers in cities; and, for this obvious reason, that the coun 


20 FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 

try farmers, as a body, have neither the time, the inclination, noi 
the opportunities for making themselves acquainted with the 
names, habits, or manners of gaine-animals ; and consequently 
could not, if they would, have framed adequate laws for their 
protection. I believe that if they could now be brought as a body 
to understand that the provisions of these laws are not arbitrary 
and intended to suit the wishes of classes, they might be in 
duced to lend their hand to the good work of game-preservation 

A very few years since, the sportsmen proper—those I mean 
who shot for exercise, pleasure, and healthful excitement—and 
the poachers who shot for the markets, both coming from the 
cities, were the only enemies of the Quail and Woodcock. 
They were at that time entirely disregarded by the farmers, who 
had not the art to kill them on the wing, who did not care for 
them as delicacies, or articles of food, and who had no markets 
to supply with what they considered useless birds. So great 
was the extent of this disregard, that I have repeatedly, on 
firing a great number of shots in small pieces of woodland, been 
questioned by the owners what on earth I found to shoot at • 
and, on showing some twenty or thirty Woodcock, have been met 
by a remark that the speaker had lived on that farm all his life, 
and had not seen a dozen such birds in his life-time—and the 
name of the bird was unknown to them. 

At this period, which was the golden age for the sportsman, tra¬ 
velling was, comparatively speaking, expensive; it was often 
necessary, in visiting out-of-the-way places, where the best sport 
was to be had, to hire private conveyances; and the consequence 
was that the city poacher was in a great measure precluded from 
following his barbarous and dishonest trade. Add to this, that 
the country people were averse to the market-shooter, when 
they discovered his object, and cast obstacles in his way. 

All this is now changed—the rail-roads by which the country 
is everywhere intersected, enable the city pot-hunter to move 
about with his dogs, and to transmit the subject of his butchery 
to the market easily, cheaply, speedily. Nor is this all—the 
country now bids fair to monopolize the trade of pot-hunting. 


INTRODUCTORY OBSERVATIONS. 


21 


The young men and boys, now-a-days, all shoot on the wing ; 
many of them shoot extremely well; and knowing the country, 
and being at it all the time, the devastation they make is enor¬ 
mous. 

Their game is easily disposed of by the aid of the conductors, 
or other employes on the rail-roads, who share the spoils with the 
killers. The father, finding that the idle lad, who formerly did 
an hour or two of work, and bird-nested or played truant quite 
unprofitably all the rest of the day, now readily earns his 
three or four shillings a day by loafing about the woods with a 
gun in his hand and a cur at his heels, encourages him in this 
thoughtless course, and looks upon him as a source both of honor 
and profit to the family. 

In the meantime, knowing nothing, and caring less than noth¬ 
ing, about the habits or seasons of the birds in question, he judges 
naturally enough that, whenever there is a demand for the 
birds or beasts in the New York markets, it is all right to kill 
and sell them. 

And thanks to the selfish gormandizing of the wealthier classes 
of that city, there is a demand always; and the unhappy birds 
are hunted and destroyed, year in and year out, by the very per¬ 
sons whose interest it is to protect them, if it be only for the sel¬ 
fish object of making the most maney of their killing. 

Even now, while I write these lines—February, 1848—owing 
to the mildness of the winter, which has allured them earlier 
than usua‘l from their hybernacula in the swamps of the sunny 
South, the Woodcock are here among us, preparing their nests 
already ere the snow is off the ground. Each pair of these birds, 
if unmolested now, will raise eight young—perhaps twelve—dur¬ 
ing the season. The bird, moreover, is in no condition at this 
time of year—his plumage is full of a species of louse, his flesh 
is unsavory, he is thin and worthless—yet the ostentation, rather 
than the epicureanism of the rich New Yorker demands Wood¬ 
cock ; therefore, despite law, common sense, and common hu¬ 
manity, the bird is butchered at all times —even now. Within ten 
years to come, if some means widely different from any now 


22 


PRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


adopted be not taken to save this bird, it will be extinct everv 
where within a hundred miles of the Atlantic seaboard—and in¬ 
land, everywhere within a hundred miles of any city large enough 
to afford a market. Within fifty years from the day on which I 
now write, I am satisfied that the Woodcock will be as rare in 
the eastern and midland states, as the Wild Turkey and the 
Heath-Hen are at present. 

The Quail will endure a little longer, and the Ruffed Grouse 
the longest of all—but the beginning of the twentieth century 
will see the wide woodlands, the dense swamps, and the moun¬ 
tain sides, depopulated and silent. I begin to despair—to feel 
that there is no hope for those who would avert the evil day, 
when game shall be extinct, and the last manly exercise out of 
date in the United States of North America. 

The foregoing remarks contain, in brief, the reasons which 
have induced me to prepare and offer to the public the present 
work, on u the Field Sports of the United States, and the British 
Provinces of North America”—a work, the intention and char¬ 
acter of which, I shall take this opportunity of stating, are en¬ 
tirely different from those of any book heretofore published in 
this country. 

“ In all European countries,” I remarked, in connexion with 
the observations quoted above, “ writers on all branches of sport¬ 
ing have long abounded ; many of them of high birth, many of 
them distinguished in the world of science and of letters, and 
some even of the gentler sex. The greatest chemist of his day, Sir 
Humphry Davy, was not ashamed to record his piscatory expe¬ 
riences in £ Salmonia,’ a work second only in freshness and at¬ 
traction to its prototype, by old Isaak Walton. That fair and 
gentle dame, Juliana Berners, deemed it not an unfeminine task 
to indite what, to the present day, is the text-book of falconry; 
and hapless beautiful Jane Grey thought she had given the ex- 
tremest praise to Plato’s eloquence, when she preferred it to the 
music of the hound and horn in the good greenwood. Till the last 
few years, however, America has found no son to record the feats 
of her bold and skilful hunters, to build theories on the results of 


INTRODUCTORY OBSERVATIONS. 


23 


their experience, or to plead the cause of her persecuted and 
almost exterminated game. 

u Within the last few years, indeed, much has been done. A 
whole host of sporting writers have sprung up> in all quarters of 
the land, having their rendezvous and rallying point in the 
columns of the New York Spirit of the Times. 

•“Still, most of these writers have aspired rather to enter¬ 
tain than to instruct; rather to depict scenes and incidents to 
the life, than to draw from those scenes a moral and a theory.” 

Even the beautiful edition of that admirable English work, 
“ Hawker on Shooting”—prepared for the American reader by 
my excellent friend, William T. Porter, known throughout the 
length and breadth of the continent as a thorough and accom¬ 
plished sportsman—does not descend to those minute details of 
the zoological distinctions, nomenclature, and habits of our vari¬ 
ous species of game, which I propose to give to my readers ; nor 
—though abounding with graphic accounts and highly colored 
anecdotes relating to every species of shooting or hunting, does 
it present any views or suggest any means for the preservation 
of game, or for the acquisition of skill in woodcraft and gunnery 
in this country—both being very different on this from what 
they are on the other side of the Atlantic. 

This consideration—connected with another, namely, that for 
the last two years hardly a week has passed without my re¬ 
ceiving a letter from some person addicted to field sports, in all, 
even the remotest, parts of the country, requesting me to suggest 
some plan for the prevention of, what all see to be imminent, the 
total annihilation of game within our borders—has led me to 
believe that the time has airived, when a work of this character 
is called for by the country in general, and is likely to be as well 
received as the deficiencies of its author will permit. 

And now, after these brief introductory observations, I shall 
state what is my plan for the arrangement of this work, and 
thereafter plunge at once in Medias Res. 

In the first place, I propose briefly to ascertain what are the 
game of the United States and Provinces of America—a point 


24 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


which is, by the way, of no small consequence ; as it is not by 
any means generally understood, at least by the rural portion of 
our eastern and midland sportsmen; and as, until it is understood 
and the understanding acted upon, sportsmanship never can be 
placed on a scientific footing. 

This done, I shall classify it under its three great distinct divi¬ 
sions, of Upland or Inland, Coast or Sea, and Western Shooting. 

Under each head, I shall give full descriptions, selected from 
the best authorities in natural history and ornithology, of the 
genera, the colors, habits, breeding seasons, and haunts of every 
species of game—thereafter, I shall treat of the proper scientific 
modes of killing and preserving them ; and, last not least, I shall 
insist on the proper nomenclature, urging its adoption with all 
my poor powers, and endeavoring to abolish the vulgar, ignorant 
slipshod habit, which prevails to such a terrible extent, of using 
absurd provincial misnomers for almost every animal of the chase 

Of the science of gunnery, the training and pathology of dogs, 
the acquisition of the art of shooting flying, and other kindred 
topics, so much has been stated at length by Hawker, Youatt, 
Blaine, and other great English authorities, that it is not neces¬ 
sary that I should be very diffuse in my observations. As, how¬ 
ever, no work on field sports can be perfect, or approach to 
perfection, unless it include these vital subjects, I shall of course 
not pass them over in silence, though I shall dilate only on such 
parts of them as appear to be most desirable, either for want of 
sufficient present publicity, or from peculiar applicability to the 
circumstances of field sports in America. 

Hunting, or coursing, proper , does not exist on this continent; 
the great topics, therefore, of condition, training, summering, 
and riding hunters to hounds, are, of course, out of the question j 
as well as the kindred subjects of the management of greyhounds, 
kennel-treatment and hunting of hounds, and lastly, all connected 
with the noble science of falconry, once termed “ the Mystery 
of Rivers.” 

I have, indeed, often wondered that both falconry and cours¬ 
ing have not been introduced on the boundless prairies of the 


INTRODUCTORY OBSERVATIONS. 


25 


West, which, for the perfection of the first named sport, are the 
grounds par excellence of the whole world—the decline of fal¬ 
conry on the continent of Europe, and in England, being caused 
by the multiplied of enclosures, which renders it impossible 
to pursue a chase, blindfold as it were, the eyes being fixed 
constantly on the manoeuvres of the hawk to pounce, and of 
the quarry to evade his stoop, in the mid-air. 

Again, Deer-coursing might be practised with undoubted suc¬ 
cess on the prairies ; the best proof of which is in the fact, that 
it has been tried by one gentleman at least, who has imported 
the rough Scottish deer greyhound for the purpose, in the ex¬ 
treme West; and has been found by him to surpass all his ex¬ 
pectations, both for the excitement of the chase and the great 
sport attained. Deer, of the largest size and finest head, were 
run into, after a pursuit of three miles or more, in view, and 
pulled down single-handed—nay, even the enormous Elk was 
brought to bay unerringly, by these staunch, fleet and noble 
hounds. 

With regard to these sports, however, I have said my say; 
and only expressing my wonder that they should not be adopted, 
and my advice to all genuine Western sportsmen—I do not mean 
game-butchers—to adopt them with all due speed—I pass on to 
'what more claims attention. 

Fishing is, perhaps, scarcely a field sport; it is nevertheless 
so decidedly a branch of sportsmanship—of course I meati fly¬ 
fishing, or trolling with the live or dead minnow ; any other 
mode I can regard only as I would knocking a hare on the head 
in her form, or shooting a bevy of Quail running, or in a huddle 
—that I may not leave it unnoticed, lest I should be supposed 
to rob it and its votaries of the honor due to the gentle science. 

I know not, whether, before entering on my subject, I owe 
any apology to my readers for that I, not native or to the manor 
born, should aspire to treat of a subject so purely indigenous as 
the field sports of America. Should it be deemed presumptuous 
in me to attempt it, I must only point, as my excuse, to seven¬ 
teen years of apprenticeship honestly devoted to acquiring the lit- 


26 FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 

tie I do know of American field sports—and so infinitesimal is 
that little, that I am almost compelled to own, with the sage of 
old, “ all that I do know is, that I know nothing”—and to a 
constant and long-maintained habit of intercourse and familiar 
correspondence with better, though not more thoroughgoing, 
sportsmen than myself, in every part of the United States, and 
of the Provinces. 

Upon any general defence of field sports I do not here think 
it worth the while to enter. All men whose opinions are worth 
one moment of attention, have long ago decided that they are 
the best, the manliest, and the most desirable, in every respect, 
of national amusements, tending to prevent the demoralization 
of luxury, and over civilization, the growth of effeminacy and 
sloth, and to the maintenance of a little manhood in an age, the 
leading characteristics of which are fanaticism, cant, and hypo¬ 
crisy, added to a total and general decay of all that is manly or 
independent either in the physical or moral characters, alike of 
individuals or nations. 

To those who think field sports cruel, immoral, wicked, and 
brutalizing, I have only to make my lowest bow ; and to en¬ 
treat that they will give me and my book, as I shall assuredly 
give them and their opinions, the widest possible berth ; assuring 
them that, without the slightest respect for their opinions, I 
have no idea of intruding upon their premises, nor any desire to 
convert them from their comfortable and self-hugging creed. 

In all ages and in all countries, genuine field sports—from 
which I, of course, exclude the really cruel and brutalizing 
amusements of bear-baiting, dog-fighting, cock-fighting, and 
other similar pursuits, which are for the most part followed 
only by the vicious and worthless population of large cities— 
have been approved of and encouraged by the wisest men, 
by statesmen and philosophers and philanthropists, not merely 
as legitimate • pursuits whereon to expend and exercise the 
buoyant animal spirits, and ardent animal propensities of youth 
—which must have an outlet one way or another—but as the 
best mode of preserving the combined advantages of the mens 


INTRODUCTORY OBSERVATIONS. 


27 


tana in corpore sano —of keeping up manhood, and of maintain¬ 
ing the physical energies and capacities of the human race at 
their highest standard. 

It is an authentic and undeniable fact that the aristocracy and 
gentry of the British Islands are superior, in physical beauty 
and power, in robustness, agility, and the capacity of enduring 
fatigue, to any other class of nobility in the world. They are, 
in fact, the only nobility in existence, which have been enabled 
to resist the deteriorating influences of wealth, luxury, and 
breeding-in-and-in, which have corrupted and effeminated the 
nobility of all other lands ; they are the only nobility , in exist¬ 
ence, which not only equals, but exceeds, in physical stature 
and strength the peasantry and laborious classes of their own 
country. And to nothing is this, or can it be, ascribed, but to 
their habit of residence on their rural estates, and their addiction 
to manly and laborious field sports. To the like cause, may 
be, in its degree, attributed the superiority, in vigor and robust¬ 
ness, despite of ill fare and hardship, of the British peasant and 
artisan to his equal in society, in France, Spain, Italy, and on 
the European continent in general. 

This being, as it must be admitted, true of Great Britain, 
there are two reasons, worth the consideration of the statesman 
and the philanthropist, why the encouragement of a love for 
field sports is even more desirable and necessary in the United 
States than in that country. 

The first is this—that the wealthy classes of the northern 
states entirely , and of all the states, in a great degree, dwelling 
exclusively in large cities, and not residing at all on rural es¬ 
tates, or acquiring rural tastes and habits, are infinitely more 
liable to become effeminated and effete than the gentry, not of 
Britain only, but of France and Germany. And, in fact, the 
soi disante aristocracy, the dandies of our cities, are now softer 
and more cocknified, as a rule, than the gentry of the European 
monarchies. 

The second consideration is this—that, standing armies being 
out of the question in this republic, the defence of the land and 


28 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


its institutions must ever be intrusted to the people at large; 
and the adaptibility of the people to that defence will ever de¬ 
pend on their aptitude to become soldiers at a short notice, and 
especially on their readiness with the gun. 

So far as they have been tried hitherto, nothing can be more 
satisfactory than the results. But, I think, it will appear, on a 
little consideration, that the probability of those results continu¬ 
ing the same for a large term of years, as far as regards the use 
of the gun, is small indeed and hourly decreasing. 

During the war of the Revolution, every countryman was a 
rifleman. Burgoyne surrendered as much to the unerring aim 
of the undisciplined American militia, as to the skill or courage 
of the regulars. Even in the last war, the northern and mid¬ 
land states could produce their hundreds and thousands of rifle 
shots ; and on the Canada frontier they did good service. 

Along the Atlantic sea-board the rifle is now, already, an 
unknown arm; and I doubt extremely whether, between the 
Kennebec, the Delaware, the great lakes, and the ocean, one 
regiment could be raised of men practically familiar with the 
use of this deadly national weapon. 

According to this rate, the use of the weapon, of course, 
passing away so soon as its utility passes, the rifle will ere long 
be as rare in the western, as it now is in the eastern states. 
The Bison, the Elk, are already rare on this side the Mississippi, 
if not extinct. The Deer are, in the same ratio, declining, and 
the Turkey. 

These gone, the utility and honor of the rifle are extinct also. 

So long as smaller game exist, the shot-gun will still continue, 
replacing the rifle as it has done to the eastward, to be in use ; 
and the practice of fire-arms will not be wholly lost. Destroy 
the small game, too, and the fowling-piece falls into disuse also. 

I do not myself believe that one century will pass over the 
United States, before its population, now the readiest on earth 
with the gun, will have cast it aside altogether ; and before a 
firelock will be as rare, unless in the hands of trained regulars, 
as the rifle is now on the sea-board. 


INTRODUCTORY OBSERVATIONS. 


29 


This certainly is a point worthy of consideration, even by 
those who think themselves far too great and philanthropical 
to trouble themselves about such trifles as the increase or de¬ 
crease of little birds, and the field sports of little men. It is, 
however, sound philosophy which teaches us that “ great ends 
come from small beginnings.” 


30 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS 


THE GAME 


OF THE 


UNITED STATES AND BRITISH PROVINCES 



AME is not every thing which ex- 
, ists in the shape of birds or beasts 
^ in a state of nature, ferce natura , m 
f the woods, the wastes, or the wa- 


% ters. 


This, to sportsmen, self-evident 


proposition is by no means gen¬ 
erally admitted or applied by the 
gunners of the United States, or 
the recorders of their feats; as will 


be readily seen by those who peruse the registers of game killed, 
in the great hunting parties which are constantly occurring in 
the more remote districts of the Eastern and Midland States— 
registers in which we shall find Owls, Hawks, Bluejays, Robins, 
Pigeons, Squirrels ; nay, even Skunks, Ground-hogs, and Opos¬ 
sums enumerated as game. 

Game is an arbitrary term, implying, in its first and most 
correct sense those animals, whether of fur or feather, which 
are the natural pursuit of certain high breeds of dogs, and 
which such dogs, whether they have ever met with the animal 
before or not, will instinctively follow and take. 

Thereafter, it comes to signify all animals which are so pursued 
by dogs for the purpose of sport, not of obtaining food, or of 
destroying a noxious animal merely, and to which certain cour¬ 
tesies, if I may so express myself, are shewn, and certain semi- 
chivalrous usages extended. 






GAME OF AMERICA. 


31 


At the same time, with but two exceptions that occur to me, 
no animal can properly be game which is not fitted for the table, 
and the flesh of which is not delicate, and esteemed a rarity. 

Again, although it be an essential qualification to game that it 
should be such as a well-bred dog will notice, and pursue natu¬ 
rally, it is not necessary that the dog should be invariably used 
in its pursuit—as in the case of the Water-Rail, and the Upland 
or Bartram’s Plover ; on both of which thorough-bred dogs will 
stand steadily, although, for reasons of which I shall treat under 
their appropriate heads, it is not usual or desirable to take out 
pointers or setters in pursuit of them. 

Once more, to conclude, there are animals which may be re¬ 
garded as game, under certain contingencies and in certain 
countries, which I should not call game under different circum¬ 
stances. 

Where falconry is in vogue, for example, which is purely a 
sport, and a most scientific sport, too, the Heron, the Skylark, 
nay, even the Magpie is pursued as, and may be considered, 
game. 

In like manner, where packs of Fox and Otter hounds are re¬ 
gularly kept for the purpose of hunting those animals, legiti¬ 
mately and scientifically, and where to kill those animals other¬ 
wise than legitimately and scientifically, is contrary to sports¬ 
manship and custom, the Fox and the Otter may be properly 
termed game. 

In England I should certainly term the Fox an animal of 
game ; in those counties of England, wherein Otter hounds are 
kept up, the Otter likewise. 

Here, like the other noxious animals, or those which are 
killed for their peltry only, by the trap or the gun, they are 
vermin ; as are the Racoon, the Opossum, and the like, although 
these may be casually pursued, unscientifically, and without fair 
play, or regular rules of sportsmanship, for their flesh, or even 
for sport. 

Game, therefore, in its proper sense—and in no other do I 
treat of it—consists but of a few families, and even genera, 


VOL. i. 


5 


32 


FRANK FOEESTER’S FIELD SPOETS. 


though of many species ; and in the United States and British 
Provinces of North America, these families may be limited to 
six families of quadrupeds only, containing twelve sub-genera 
and species ; and this at the very largest and most liberal com¬ 
putation. These families are the Ox, Bos; the Goat, Capra; 
the Antelope, Antilope ; Deer, Ccrvus ; Hare r Lepus; and the 
Bear, Ursus 

Of the first, second and third of these genera, there are but 
three species found on this continent, one of each. 

The Bison, Bos Americanus , peculiar to South America. 

The Rocky Mountain Goat, Capra Montana. 

The Rocky Mountain Sheep, Ovis Montana ; and 

The American Antelope, or Pronghorn. 

Of the Deer there are five varieties found in the territories of 
the United States and the Provinces, namely— 

The Moose, Cervus Alces ; 

The Elk, Cervus Canadensis; 

The Cariboo, American Reindeer, Cervus Tarandus ; 

The Common Deer, Cervus Virginianus ; and 

The Black-tailed Deer, Cervus Macrotis. 

Of the Hare there are two varieties known on this continent: 

The Common Hare —vulg. Rabbit— Lepus Americanus ; and 

The Northern Hare, Lepus Virginianus. 

Of the Bear also there are two varieties : 

The Common Brown Bear, Ursus Americanus ; and 

The Grisly Bear, Ursus Horribilis. 

This is the utmost limit that I can assign to the quadruped 
game of this country ; as I cannot lend my humble sanction to 
the shooting squirrels, racoons, or opossums out of trees, and 
calling that sportsmanship ; any more than I can assent to shoot¬ 
ing thrushes, crow-blackbirds, pigeons, meadow-larks, and reed- 
birds, and calling them game. 

In fact, for my own part, I can scarcely bring myself to re¬ 
gard the Bison or the Bear as game, in consequence of the whole- 


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I 






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GAME OF AMERICA. 


33 


eale and butcher-like fashion in which the former are slaughtered, 
and the total absence of what I should deem sport in gallopping 
alongside of a great unwieldly terrified mountain of flesh, pouring 
broadsides into him, until he falls for loss of blood ; and looking 
to the ferocious and noxious character of the latter. 

Nevertheless, in the West, Buffalo -hunting is regarded as 
sport therefore the Bison—for, be it observed, there is no such 
animal known to this continent as the Buffalo —must take its 
place among the game of North America ; and, in the south 
and south-west, the bear is hunted sportsmanly and scientifically 
with packs of highly-trained and highly-bred hounds. I cannot 
therefore, deny him a place in the list of animals of game or 
chase. 

The Antelope again, and, yet more, the Rocky Mountain 
Sheep, are so rare, and so little pursued, except by the travellers 
and trappers of those barren wilds, who kill them—when they 
can—for their flesh, that they barely come within the sphere of 
game. There is no mode of hunting or pursuing them practised, 
except to crawl as near to them as you can, and shoot them if 
you can ; still they are of species recognised as game elsewhere, 
which doubtless would afford rare sport, if they were in situations 
where they could be legitimately hunted ; and perhaps will yet af¬ 
ford it, if they be not destroyed by the trappers and backwoods¬ 
men, before increasing civilization and refinement brings up a 
class capable of indulging in the expensive pursuit, and of cher¬ 
ishing a fondness for sport, purely for sport’s sake. 

The Moose, the Elk, the Cariboo, and the Common Deer, are 
distinctly game in every sense of the word ; and are pursued as 
such whenever they can be found. The black-tailed Deer is of 
precisely the same order, and will doubtless afford as good sport, 
when civilization shall have reached his haunts, which are on, 
and to the westward of, the Rocky Mountains. 

The two varieties of Hare are likewise emphatically game; 
and it is with these two families only, and but with two or three 
species of these, that nine-tenths of my readers will ever have 
to do. 


34 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


The Mouse and Cariboo may be hunted with more or less 
success in Maine and Canada, as well as in the Eastern provin¬ 
ces of Nova Scotia and New Brunswick. A few linger yet in 
the north-eastern angle of New York, and on the northern 
frontiers of Vermont and New Hampshire. There is, however, 
little prospect of sport in their pursuit, west of the St. Johns, or 
south of the Canada lines. A few Elk are said to exist still in 
the western districts of Pennsylvania, and also in Kentucky, 
but to find them in herds, and in fact to have a chance of killing 
them, the hunter must go westward of the Mississippi. 

Even the larger species of hare, which becomes white in win¬ 
ter, is becoming rare in New York south of the region of Lake 
Champlain; and, except among the craggy hills where he 
can laugh at pursuit, he will soon cease to exist as an animal of 
chase. 

So that in fact for the great majority of sportsmen, the number 
of varieties of four-footed game is reduced to two species—the 
common Deer, and the common Hare—the small grayish brown 
fellow, I mean, who is erroneously called Rabbit —for be it ob¬ 
served no Rabbit exists on the continent of North America, and 
no Buffalo ; though I suppose to all eternity, men will persist— 
even men of education, who ought to know, and do know, better 
—in calling them by the names applied to them by the illiterate 
and vulgar. 

I have no patience with the dependent provincial vulgarism of 
calling all birds, beasts, plants and fishes, by the name of Euro¬ 
pean animals or vegetables, to which they bear some fancied 
resemblance, when no such things exist on the continent. 

There is scarcely a wild bird or a wild plant in this country 
that does not go by some ludicrous misnomer. Thus a Thrush is 
termed a Robin , a Vulture a Crow , a Grouse a Pheasant or a Par¬ 
tridge , a Quail a Partridge —a Rhododrendon, an Azalia, and a 
Calmia—all three as wide apart from each other, and from the 
thing they are called, as an ivy bush from an oak tree— laurel, 
and so on, of almost everything that runs, flies or grows in the 
woods or wilds of the United States. 


GAME OF AMERICA. 


35 


It is to those stupid misnomers, as I shall show hereafter, that 
one-half the confusion and difficulty arises among sportsmen 
with regard to the objects of their pursuit. 

We now come to the winged game ; and here we shall find 
less difficulty in deciding what species are properly game; 
though, with regard to one or two families, much more in ascer¬ 
taining the correct denominations of the birds themselves, it 
being no easy task to assign the individuals known by some bar¬ 
barous nickname to any real tribe or order. 

All the game birds, proper, of this continent, then, belong to 
three orders; one of land, and two of—as they are called—wa¬ 
ter birds; although several species of the latter are found inland 
and on uplands. 

All our game, coming under the head of land-birds, proper, 
are of the order termed by ornithologists Rasores ; and belong to 
two families, Pavonidce , and Tetraonidce ; or birds following the 
types of the Peacock, and of the Grouse. Of these again we 
have three subdivisions— Meleagris , or Turkey ; Ortyx , or Ame¬ 
rican Quail; and Tetrao , or Grouse. 

Of the second* family Pavonidce , and first genus Meleagris , the 
United States possess but one species. 

The Wild Turkey. Meleagris Gallipavo. 

Of the third family Tetraonidce, , and first genus, Ortyx , Quail, 
there are no less than six distinct species within the territories 
now belonging, or about shortly to belong,to the United States; 
and I think it well at least to mention their names and places of 
residence; as experience teaches us that our population spreads 
with such vast rapidity, that tracts, which are a wilderness one 
year, are the next almost thickly settled places ; so that it is by 
no means impossible, nor even very improbable, that within a 
few years, more or less, these varieties of Quail, now known only 
to a few minute and laborious ornithologists, may be as regularly 
hunted and as scientifically killed as our own domestic bird of 
the same kin. They are these— 

* The first family, Columbida , of this order, the third of land-birds, are no 
game. 


36 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


1. The Common American Quail, 

2. The Californian Quail, 

3. The Plumed Quail, 

4. The Welcome Quail, 

5. The Painted Quail, 

6. The Douglass Quail, 


Ortyx Vlrginiana; 
Ortyx Californica; 
Ortyx Plumi/era ; 
Ortyx Neoxena ; 
Ortyx Picta; 

Ortyx Douglasii. 


Of these six species the first alone is yet an object of pursuit 
being found everywhere south of the 43rd degree of north lati 
tude, from the waters of the Kennebeck to those of the Rio 
Grande, if not yet farther to the south. The second, third, 
fourth, and fifth species are all inhabitants of California, as far 
north as the valley of the Columbia—the third, or Plumed Quail, 
being found farther north among the Rocky Mountains ; and the 
last, named after its discoverer, being a denizen of Lower Califor¬ 
nia only, and never straying so far northward as his congeners. 

Still of the third family Tetraonida , we have in the United 
States and Canada, a second genus Tetrao , Grouse proper, of 
which three distinct and well marked species belong to the 
States, if not four. Two more, in addition to the above, inhabit 
the British provinces, and thence northward to the Arctic 
Ocean; and four others are peculiar to the Rocky Mountains, 
and the valley of the Columbia. Three of these species are tole¬ 
rably plentiful, and two of them 1 have myself shot, the one being 
the Ruffed, and the other the Canada Grouse, respectively vul¬ 
garised, as the Partridge, and Spruce Partridge. 

Within a few years, there is little doubt that the western spe¬ 
cies will be exposed for sale in our markets ; and, should Whit¬ 
ney’s Oregon Railroad go into effect in our days, who knows but 
we may live to shoot Cocks of the Plains ourselves, and bring 
them home the next day to dinner at Delmonico’s r 

The ten American species of Grouse are as follows: 


1. The Common Ruffed Grouse, Tetrao Umbellus ; 

2. The Pinnated Grouse— or the Heath-Hen, Tetrao Cupido, 

3. The Canada Grouse— or Spruce Grouse, Tetrao Cana¬ 
densis ; 

4. The Dusky Grouse, Tetrao Obscurus ,* 


GAME OF AMERICA. 


37 


5. The Cock of the Plains, Tetrao Urophasianus; 

6. The Sharp-tailed Grouse, Tetrao Phasianellus; 

7. The Willow Grouse, Tetrao Saliceti; 

8. The American Ptarmigan, Tetrao Mutus; 

9. The Rock Ptarmigan, Tetrao Rupestris; and 

10. The White-tailed Ptarmigan, Tetrao Leucuras. 

Of these noble birds, the three species first named are all na¬ 
tives of the Eastern States, and a few of all are yet to be found 
in them ; although the Pinnated Grouse, or Heath-Hen, has been 
nearly exterminated—as I have before observed—and the Canada 
or Spruce Grouse, is a shy, forest-haunting bird, rarely met with, 
and scarcely ever pursued on his own account alone. I never 
saw but one alive, which I shot on the Penobscot, in Maine. It 
is, so far as I can learn, nowhere plentiful, not even in its north¬ 
ern haunts. 

The seventh species, the Willow Grouse, is stated in the books 
to exist from Maine to Labrador. I never, however, have heard 
of one being killed, or seen south of the St. Lawrence, above 
Quebec. If it be found in the States, it is so rare as to be un¬ 
worthy of notice, as a species of game. 

The fourth, fifth, sixth, and tenth varieties are indigenous to 
the Rocky Mountains and the valley of the Columbia, and will 
probably be, one day, added to the list of American game, and 
fairly pursued, as such. 

The eight and ninth inhabit the desolate regions northward of 
Labrador, and Melville Island, and the banks of the Churchill 
River, where no one is very like to follow them in search of 
sport. Few of our race have ever seen them living, and they 
are of course incapable of naturalization to the southward. 

And here ends the list of our game land-birds, proper—al¬ 
though as I have stated, two or three varieties of those which 
are classed by the naturalist as water-birds, and which are in 
some sort amphibious, fall under the sportsman’s head of Upland 
shooting. It is on account of this peculiarity, that I propose, 
after enumerating and classifying the game of the country in 
general, in its proper orders, families, and genera, to distinguish 


38 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


it farther according to the regions and situations in which we 
find it, and the modes we adopt in its pursuit. 

Of game land-birds, proper, then, we have in all but three 
genera, the wild Turkey, the Grouse, and the Quail. Here 
specially observe and remember that on the whole continent of 
America there exists neither Pheasant nor Partridge ; and to 
call the Ruffed Grouse, or American Quail, as both are called, 
by those names, is not an iota less absurd than it would be to 
call them Game-cocks, and Bantams. 

Moreover, of all the various species both of Grouse and Quail, 
common to this country, there are but two of the former, the 
Ruffed and Pinnated, and one of the latter, the common Quail, 
sufficiently abundant in any part of the United States or Canada, 
to render it worth the sportsman’s while to pursue them. 

Of water-birds, to proceed with our enumeration, we have a 
a much larger number coming under the head of game; all of two 
families, Grallatores , or waders, and Natatores , or swimmers. 
The first, third, and fourth families of the first of these orders, 
the waders, include some of our choicest and most favorite va¬ 
rieties of game, both for the excellence of their flesh, and the 
sport they afford in the field. 

They are the Rallida , the Charadriadce, and the Scolopacidce , 
or the families whereof the Rail, the Plover, and the Wood¬ 
cock form the types. Of the second order, the swimmers, the 
second family alone, the Anatidce , of which the Duck constitutes 
the type, comes within the sphere of my notice as game; but 
five of its six genera—the first, containing the Flamingo, only 
being omitted—Goose, Swan, Duck, Sea-duck and Diver, con¬ 
tain more species than all the rest of our list together. But to 
proceed in order, of the first family Rallidce , of the waders, we 
have two genera. Fulica , Coot, and Rallus, Rail. 

1st. The Common American Coot, Fulica Nigra , which is a 
common autumnal visitant of all the coasts, bays and salt 
marshes from Pennsylvania eastward. 

Of the Rail, three species are well known to all our sports¬ 
men. 


GAME OF AMERICA. 


39 


1st. The Virginia Rail, Rallus Virginianus ; 

2nd. The Clapper Rail —Vulg. Meadow, or Mud, Hen— 
Rallus Crepitans ; 

3rd. The Common Sora Rail, Rallus Carolinus , which is the 
bird killed in such abundance on the flats and reed-beds of the 
Delaware in autumn. 

The second family of this order, the Gruidce , of which the 
Crane is the type, containing all the varieties of Heron, Ibis, 
and Bittern, I do not regard as game ; and therefore pass in si¬ 
lence. Of the next, third, family, Charadriadce , we have all the 
genera but one, the Charadrius , Plover, proper, six varieties—the 
Slrepsilas , Turnstone and the Hcematopus , Oyster-catcher, the last 
named hardly being entitled to the name of game, the others all, 
like four-fifths of the next family, being included under the vul¬ 
gar appellation of Bay Snipe, or Bay birds. It is unnecessary, 
at present, to enumerate all the species of these genera, as, in 
truth, they are generally of small value, with perhaps one excep¬ 
tion, the Golden Plover. 

The fourth family, Scolopacidce , contains almost all our best 
and most delicious species for the table, and those which are 
most eagerly pursued and most highly prized by the genuine 
sportsman. 

All the genera of this family are game, and scarcely one but 
contains some favorite species. 

The first is Tringa , Sandpiper, of which we have eight or nine 
varieties, classed indiscriminately with the next two genera, as 
Bay birds , by our gunners. 

The second, Totanus , Tatler, contains seven species, all of 
which are common along the Atlantic seaboard, and four, at 
least, of which are universally known and general favorites.— 
The first I regard, myself, as the best bird that flies, in an epi¬ 
curean point of view, not excepting even the world-famous can¬ 
vass back. The varieties are— 

1. The Upland Plover, Grass Plover, or Frost Bird, Tota¬ 
nus Bartramius ; 

2. Semi-palmated Snipe, or Willet, Totanus Semipalmatus • 


40 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


3. Spotted Tatler, Totanus Macularius ; 

4. Solitary Tatler, Totanus Solitarius ; 

5. Yellow Shanks Tatler, Lesser Yellow Leg, Totanus 
Flavipes ; 

6. Telltale Tatler, Greater Yellow Leg, Totanus Vocife- 
rus; and 

7. Green Shanks Tatler, Totanus Glottis. 

Of these the Upland Plover, the Willet, and the two Yellow- 
Legs are very general favorites. The first is an excellent bird ; 
the others, me judice , are, nine times out of ten, uneatably fishy 
or sedgy. 

The third genus, Limosa , Godwit, has but one species which 
visits us. 

The Great Marbled Godwit, or Straight-billed Curlew, 
Limosa Fedoa , frequently killed with the Sandpipers, Plovers and 
Tatlers on the Long Island bays, and the shores of New Jersey. 

The fourth genus, Scolopax , has three species known to every 
sportsman ; two his most chosen game. They are— 

1. Wilson’s Snipe— vulg. English Snipe —Scolopax Wil- 
sonii; 

2. Red-breasted Snipe— vulg. Quail Snipe —Scolopax No- 
veboracensis ; and 

3. The American Woodcock, Scolopax Minor. 

The other genera, each containing one species, are the 

Recurvirostra , Avosets ; Himantopus , Stilt; and Numenius , 
Curlew ; all of which are well known to our fowlers, though, 
with the exception of the last, all falsely termed Bay Snipe. Ob¬ 
serve, that the Red-breasted Snipe of this family is the only Snipe 
which frequents the sea-beach or salt marshes ; the other birds 
so called are Plovers, Sandpipers, Tatlers, Turnstones, Avosets, 
Phalaropes, and others, whose names are legion; but not a 
Snipe among them; and even the solitary Red-breasted Snipe 
lies under some suspicion of being rather a connecting link be¬ 
tween the Snipes, proper, and the Godwits and Tatlers, than him¬ 
self a pure Snipe. 


GAME OF AMERICA. 


41 


We now arrive at the last order, Natatores , swimmers, of 
which, to take cognisance, under the head of its second family, 
Anatidce. The second genus of this family, Anser , Goose, gives 
us four species, though two, the third and fourth, are far from 
common. The first and third are decidedly the best of our sea 
fowl. 

1. The Canada Goose —Wild Goose— Anser Canadensis ; 

2. The Barnacle Goose, # Anser Leucopsis ; 

3. The Brant Goose— Brant — Anser Bernicla ; 

4. The White-fronted Goose, Anser Albifrons ; and 

6. The Snow Goose, Anser Hyperboreus. 

The third genus, Swan, affords two species to North America, 
but the second only belongs to the Eastern States ; the Trump¬ 
eter ranging only through Northern California to the fur coun¬ 
tries, from westward of the Ohio. 

1. The Trumpeter Swan, Cycnus Buccinator ; and 

2. The American Swan, Cycnus Americanus. 

The fourth genus, Anas, Duck, contains ten species, every one 
of which, with the exception of the fourth, is well known to all 
sportsmen ; they are of the finest quality for the table, and pre¬ 
ferable to all others, with the exception of the Canvass Back, 
and perhaps the Red Head. They are as follows : 

1. The Mallard —vulg. Green Head— Anas Boschas ; 

2. The Dusky Duck —vulg. Black Duck— Anas Obscura ; 

3. The Gadwall, Anas Strepera ; 

4. Brewer’s Duck, Anas Brewerii; 

5. The American Widgeon, Anas Americana ; 

6. The Pintail Duck, Anas Acuta ; 

7. The Wood Duck, Summer Duck, Anas Sponsa ; 

8. American Green-winged Teal, Anas Carolinensis. 

* I have my doubts whether the Barnacle and Brant are not one and the 
same bird, though at different ages, and in different states of plumage. 


42 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


9. The Blue-winged Teal,* Anas Discors , and 
10. The Shoveller, Anas Clypeata . 

The fifth genus, Fuligula , Sea Duck, contains sixteen species, 
severa'l of which are well known, and the two first prominent 
above their race. They are— 

1. The Canvass Back Duck, Fuligula Valisneria ; 

2. The Red-headed Duck|— vulg. Red-head — Fuligula 
Marina ; 

3. The Scaup Duck, Fuligula Marila ; 

4. The Ring-necked Duck, Tufted Duck, Fuligula Rufi- 
torques ; 

5. The Ruddy Duck, Fuligula Rubida ; 

6. The Pied Duck, Fuligula Labradora ; 

7. The Velvet Duck, Fuligula Fusca ; 

8. The Surf Duck, Fuligula Perspiculata ; 

9. The American Scoter, Fuligula Americana ; 

10. The Eider Duck, Fuligula Mollissima ; 

11. The Golden-eye Duck, Fuligula Clangula ; 

12. The Buffel-headed Duck, Fuligula Albeola ; 

13. The Harlequin Duck, Fuligula Histrionica ; 

14. The Long-tailed Duck— vulg. South-southerly — Fu¬ 
ligula Glacialis ; 

15. The King Duck, Fuligula Spectabilis ; and 

16. The Western Duck, Fuligula Dispar. 

The sixth genus, Mergus , Merganser, contains three well known 
species, which, commonly shot and of rare beauty, are all nearly 
worthless as articles of food, so rank and fishy is their flesh. 
They are, as follows : 

1. The Goosander— vulg. Sheldrake— Mergus Merganser ; 

2. The Red-breasted Merganser, Mergus Senator ; and 

3. The Hooded Merganser, Mergus Cucullatus. 

* I once doubted whether this Duck was not identical with the Garga- 
ney of Europe, Anas Querquedula, but am now satisfied that they are 
distinct birds. 

t This I believe to be the same with the European Pochard. 


GAME OP AMERICA 


43 


Here ends what may, I believe, be termed a complete list of 
all the game, both quadruped and winged, of the United States 
and the Provinces ; I am not aware of a single omission ; per¬ 
haps, indeed, in the latter portion of my catalogue, the fowl es¬ 
pecially, I have admitted some genera, which are of so rare 
occurrence on the coast, as to fall seldom before the gunner’s 
aim ; and which, therefore, can hardly be enumerated as regularly 
game. I judged it, however, better to err on this, than on the 
other side of the question ; and the error, if error there be, 
will be rectified when I come to speak of the various kinds of 
shooting, and the habits of the animals pursued in each. 

And here I should, perhaps, apologize to my readers for the 
apparent but necessary dryness of this part of my work. A 
catalogue never can be rendered entertaining, and yet it is indis¬ 
pensable. I think I can promise that future pages will possess more 
interest to the general reader, although I should strenuously 
urge it on him, who desires really to make himself a master 
of the subject, not to skip or slur over the above list of names, 
but to fix them in his understanding and his memory, as I shall 
have constant occasion to refer to them hereafter, and as a know¬ 
ledge of them is absolutely necessary to the acquisition of skill 
and science in field sports, in their widest range and most liberal 
signification. 

I now come to the subdivisions of my subject, according to 
the different regions of country to which the different kinds 
of shooting and hunting, and the different species of game be¬ 
long. These, it appears to me, are threefold, chiefly. 

First. Upland shooting, which may be termed particularly the 
field sports of the Northern and Midland States, consisting in the 
pursuit of small game—as the Pinnated and Ruffed Grouse, the 
Quail, the Woodcock, the Snipe, the Upland Plover, the Hare, 
the Rail, and one or two species of Duck, which are found only 
on inland streams and marshes—with the double gun, and the 
trained pointer, setter, spaniei, or retriever. 

Second. Fowl shooting, whether from sailing-boats., batteries, 
or otherwise ; and, under this head, I include the killing of the 


44 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


smaller coast-birds, as Plovers, Sandpipers, and the like, over 
stools, as they are called, or decoy birds. 

Third. Western shooting, which may be termed hunting , as 
it consists of the pursuit of the larger animals, as the Bison, the 
Elk, the Bear, the Deer, &c., either with the aid of hounds or the 
speed of horses, but invariably with the ride instead of the shot¬ 
gun. Even the pursuit of the Turkey is a species of still hunt¬ 
ing, or stalking, rather than of shooting proper ; as I never have 
heard of this bird lying to, or being killed over, setters, and 
not often of his being shot on the wing, or with the fowling- 
piece. I am, of course, not unaware that all the smaller kinds 
of eastern game abound to the westward, but as the mode of 
killing them, over setters or pointers, is identical with that used 
on the seaboard, and is adopted thence, that does not, I think, 
militate against the justice of my distinction. 

Lastly. The hunting of the Northern and Eastern States 
must, I suppose, find a place; though, in truth, the deer-hunt¬ 
ing is so idle and contemptible, now-a-days, in that part of the 
States, as to be hardly worthy of notice ; while the pursuit of 
the Moose and Cariboo, although really a grand field sport, and 
a very noble exercise, requiring pluck, power, wind, sinew, 
speed, and endurance, is so rare and difficult of attainment, as 
to present little attraction to the general run of sportsmen. 

Without farther comment I now proceed to Upland game and 
Upland shooting, connected with which I shall discuss, in their 
places, the use of the fowling-piece, the art of shooting flying, 
the breeds, breeding, diseases and management of dogs, and such 
other points as shall appear to flow naturally from the subject; 
and this I esteem the principal portion and better part of the 
work before me ; and, as my own especial hobby and chosen 
sport, I come to deal with it, as a work of love and pleasure. 



UPLAND SHOOTING. 


45 


UPLAND SHOOTING 

OF THE 

NORTHERN STATES AND BRITISH PROVINCES. 


PLAND shooting, as it is understood by 
American sportsmen, is the distinctive 
term, not, as would appear at first sight, 
dividing the sport of the hill from that 
of the plain country, but that of the in¬ 
land from that of the coast. It in¬ 
cludes, therefore, not only all game of 
the order, Rasores , the home of which 
is in thickets, mountain-sides, stubbles, or maize-fields, but such 
also of the Grallatores , or warders, as dwell either in inland 
swampy woods, fresh meadows, or river-side morasses ; and, far¬ 
ther yet, such of the Natatore /, swimmers, as are found exclu¬ 
sively or principally on brooks, rivers, above tide water, and 
spring marshes. 

By upland shooting, in a word, we understand all that is pur¬ 
sued with the aid of pointers, setters, or spaniels, and the ordin¬ 
ary light fowling-piece ; as opposed to that which is followed in 
boats with heavy ducking guns, and by the aid of decoys, or, as 
they are here termed, stools. 

Of all sports of this country, therefore, upland shooting is that 
which requires in the sportsman the greatest combination of qual 
ities, the greatest skill with the gun, the greatest knowledge of the 
habits and haunts of his game, the greatest science in the manage¬ 
ment of his dogs, and the greatest bodily vigor and endurance. 




46 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


The upland shooter of America does not, cannot, select his 
stands, or easy walking ground, for getting shots and killing 
game, leaving it to his gamekeeper or beaters to hunt his dogs, 
and flush his birds in the thicket, so that they shall fly out before 
his face—still less does he, like the deer shooter, remain listless 
and silent at his stand, until his guide, a practical woodman, 
shall find the quarry and hunt it toward him, so that, per¬ 
chance, without walking fifty yards or- making the slightest 
exertion, he gets his point-blank shot, and thinks it a great 
matter to have killed a big helpless animal, as big as a jackass, 
and as timid as a calf, literally in the intervals between eating 
bread and cheese and drinking brown stout, as he sits on a moss- 
covered log to leeward of the runaway. 

No, through the thickest alder swamp, the deepest and most 
boggy marsh, among tussocks knee-high, and fallen trees, and in¬ 
terlacing vines and cat-briars—along the sharp limestone ledges 
and through the almost impervious growth of the rhododendron 
overcanopied by juniper and hemlock—over mile after mile of 
broad, bare hill-side stubbles—through black morasses, intersected 
by broad drains—trusting to his own sure foot and even stride, he 
must toil on after his game, the wildest, fleetest, wariest, and 
sharpest-flying of all the fowls of the air, depending on his own 
knowledge of their seasons ancktheir habits to launch his trusty 
dogs into their proper haunts, at their proper hours ; on his 
management of those dogs to flush them fairly within shot, and 
on his own eye and hand of instinct to give a good account of 
them, when flushed within distance. 

The perfection to which some men have carried this art is 
almost incredible—the certainty with which they will find game 
on the same tract of land, with another party who shall find none 
—the unerring instinct with which they will read the slightest 
signs of the weather, and comprehend the smallest indications 
of the whereabouts of their game—the readiness with which 
they will draw conclusions and positive deductions from signs 
which to others seem light as air—the facility with which they 
understand their dogs, and their dogs them—and lastly, their 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


47 


wonderful accuracy, rapidity and deliberate promptitude of aim 
and execution, backed as these are by the great improvements 
in the art of gunnery, and by the vast superiority of the percus¬ 
sion to the flint lock, are such as would make our ancestors, of 
a century since, despair amid their admiration—such as consti¬ 
tute the first-rate game shot on the wing, decidedly the greatest 
marksman and artist with the gun, be the other what he may. 

For, without disparaging the beautiful practice of the rifle or 
pistol, it may be affirmed safely that it is merely mechanical, and 
attainable by every one possessed of a steady hand and a true 
eye ; while I know not what of calculation, of intuition, almost 
of inspiration, is not needed to constitute a crack shot. As my 
poor friend, Cypress, Jun., said, in one of his inimitably witty 
false quotations, purporting to be from Pliny’s chapter on Black 
Ducks, u Legere quidern et scribere est pcedagogi , sed optime col - 
lineare est Dei ,” which he rendered somewhat thus, u A credita¬ 
ble scholar can be made by the schoolmaster, but a crack shot 
is the work of God,” the Latinity being equal to the truth of 
the apopthegm. 

Now, without pretending that I can give every person a re¬ 
ceipt whereby he can become a u crack shot,” which no one, I 
believe, can be, unless he is born to that good eminence, or even 
presuming that I can make him a good sportsman, I shall pro¬ 
ceed to set down such facts with regard to the habits and haunts, 
the seasons and the instincts of game, as I can derive from the best 
sources, with such directions for the pursuit and killing of them 
as many years experience has led me to consider the most likely 
to attain success. 

And first of all, we will consider what animals come under the 
head of upland game, and thence proceed to their generic distinc¬ 
tions and habits, as recorded by our greatest naturalists, after 
which we shall be led in due season to my own personal experi¬ 
ences and observations. 

Our upland game consists then, as we find it here in the 
northern and north-eastern parts of North America, of three 
species of grouse proper—one of them very rare and very rarely 

VOL. i. 6 


48 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


killed over dogs—one species of quail—three varieties of waders ; 
several species of duck, and two of hares. 

The grouse are, The Pinnated Grouse, Telrao Cupido , com¬ 
monly known as the Prairie-Hen, or Heath-Hen. 

The Ruffed Grouse, Tetrao Umbellus , vulgarly called the 
Partridge in New England and New York, and as vulgarly the 
Pheasant in New Jersey and Southward. 

The Canada Grouse, Tetrao Canadensis , commonly known 
as the Spruce Partridge. 

I trust that the remarks I have already made, and the clearly 
distinctive proofs which I shall hereafter adduce from the best 
ornithologists, will lead sportsmen to act in earnest about reform¬ 
ing the sporting vocabulary, and eschewing the snobbish and ig¬ 
norant provincialism, or cockneyism—for such it indeed is, of 
calling Grouse, u Pheasant and Partridge,” and thereby destroy¬ 
ing all consistency in the dialect, and all community in the feel¬ 
ings of the sporting world. 

The Quail is, The American Quail, Ortyx Virginiana , 
properly known in New Jersey and eastward as Quail; wrong¬ 
ly to the Southward as Partridge. 

The Waders are, The American Woodcock, Scolopax Minor , 
sive, Microptera Americana —the latter, I conceive, a causeless 
distinction and subdivision—commonly called in the country, 
Mud Snipe, Blind Snipe, and Big-headed Snipe ; while its correct 
name, Woodcock, is often given to the larger red-polled Wood¬ 
pecker. 

The American Snipe, Gallinago Wilsonii , commonly known 
as English Snipe. 

The Upland Sandpiper, Bar tram's Tatler , Tringa Bartra- 
mia, sive , Totanus Barlramius , commonly known as the Upland 
Plover , Grass Plover , or Frost Bird 

The Ducks, which may be classed as Upland game, are The 
Dusky Duck, Anas Obscura , commonly known as the Black 
Buck. 

The Mallard, Anas Boschas, vulg. Green Head. 

The Green-winged Teal, Anas Carolinensis. 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


49 


The Blue-winged Teal, Anas Discors. 

The Wood Duck, or Summer Duck, Anas Sponsa. 

The Pintail Duck, Anas Acuta , vulg. Sprig Tail, Pigeon Tail . 

One or two other varieties of this family are common either 
to both salt and fresh waters, or of so rare occurrence as to re¬ 
quire no notice ; of the former I will merely name The Shovel¬ 
ler, Anas Clypeata , and The Golden Eye, Anas Clangula : of 
the latter, The Gadwall, Anas Strepera. 

The Hares are, The Common American Hare, Lepus Ameri- 
canus , commonly and improperly, Rabbit. 

The Northern Hare, Lepus Virginianus , vulgarly and im¬ 
properly, White Rabbit. 

The Common Sora Rail, Rallus Carolinus , must be classed 
under a sporting head, peculiar to itself—as it is shot from boats, 
apart from any other species of game, and in different localities, 
though in the same manner, with some exceptions, as wild fowl 
on the coast. 

With the exception of the Wild Turkey, which is unquestiona¬ 
bly the noblest bird of the order, Rasores , and as such the king of 
American game, the three Grouse which we possess must take 
the lead; and first in place, as in size and honor, I assign the 
palm to 


THE PINNATED GROUSE. 


Tetrao Cupido — Linn , Wilson , Audubon. La Gelinotte Huppek 
L’Amerique — Brissot. The Prairie-Hen , Grouse , or Heath- 
Hen. 

“ Male, 18.27|. 

u Abundant from Texas, throughout all the Western prairies, 
to very high up the Missouri, Kentucky, Illinois and Ohio ; al¬ 
most extirpated in the Middle and Eastern Districts. Resident 

u Adult Male. 

« Rill short, robust; upper mandible with the dorsal outline 


50 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


curved, the edges overlapping, the tip declinate* * * § and rounded 
Nostrils basal, roundish, concealed by the feathers. Head 
small, neck rather long, body bulky. Feet of ordinary length, 
tarsus short-feathered, toes covered above with numerous short 
scutella,f marginate,J and pectinate,§ hind toe extremely short, 
two lateral equal, middle toe much longer; claws of ordinary 
length, strong, arched, rather obtuse, concave beneath. 

“ Plumage compact, the feathers generally broad and rounded, 
those of the head and neck narrow, and proportionally shorter, 
excepting of the crown, which are elongated. Two tufts of 
lanceolate elongated feathers on the side of the neck, under 
which is an oblong bare space on either side capable of being in¬ 
flated. Lower tibial|| and tarsallf feathers short, soft and blended. 
Wings short and curved, the primaries strong and narrow ; 
fourth longest, third and fifth nearly equal, second longer than 
sixth, first much shorter. Tail very short, much rounded, slop¬ 
ing on both sides, of eighteen broad, rounded feathers. 

u Bill dusky, paler beneath; iris brown, toes dull yellow, 
claws grayish brown ; the general color of the upper parts is 
blackish brown, transversely marked with broad, undulating 
bands of light yellowish red ; the wing coverts and secondaries 
of a lighter brown, tinged with gray, and barred with paler red, 
the latter only on the outer webs ; primary quills grayish brown, 
with black shafts, and spots of pale reddish on the outer webs, 
excepting toward the end. Tail dark grayish brown, narrowly 
tipped with dull white, the two middle feathers mottled with 
brownish red. Space from the bill to the eye, a band from the 
lower mandible over the cheek and throat, pale yellowish red or 
cream color; a band of blackish brown under the eye, including 
the ear coverts, and another about an inch and a half long on 

* Declinate —Bent downward. 

t Scutella —Scales overlapping, like tiles or shingles. 

X Marginate —Having margins or borders. 

|| Pectinate —Toothed, like a comb. 

§ Tibial —Belonging to the tibia, or thigh. 

^ Tarsal —Belonging to the tarsus, or shank. 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


51 


the side of the throat. Membrane above the eye scarlet. Bare 
skin of the sounding bladder orange. The longest feathers of 
the neck tufts are dark brown on the outer webs, pale yellowish 
red and margined with dusky on the inner, excepting the low¬ 
est, which are all brownish black. The lower parts are marked 
with large transverse curved bands of grayish brown and pale 
yellowish gray, the tints deeper on the anterior parts and under 
the wings. Under tail coverts arranged in three sets, the mid¬ 
dle feathers convex, involute, white, with two concealed brown 
spots ; the lateral larger, of the same form, abrupt, variegated 
with dusky red and white, the extremity of the latter color, but 
with a very narrow terminal margin of black. The tibial and 
tarsal feathers are gray, obscurely and minutely banded with 
yellowish brown. 

“ Length 18 inches ; extent of wings, 27 1 ; bill along the 
back, X 2 ; along the edge, ; tarsus, 1* ; weight, lib. 13oz. 
u Adult female. 

u The female is considerably smaller than the male, and wants 
the crest, neck-tufts and air-bags, but in other respects resembles 
him. 5, T— Audubon’s Birds of America. 

Attagen Americana, Brissot f 1 , p. 59—Pinnated Heath-Cock, 
Bonnasa Cupido, Steph. Sh. cont. 1 1 , p. 299—Tetrao Cupido, 
Bonap. Synop, p. 126. 

“ Before I enter on a detail of the observations which I have 
myself personally made on this singular species, I shall lay be¬ 
fore the reader a comprehensive and very circumstantial memoir 
on the subject, communicated to me by the writer, Dr. Samuel 
L. Mitchill, of New York, whose exertions both in his public 
and private capacity, in behalf of science, and in elucidating the 
natural history of his country, are well known and highly honor¬ 
able to his distinguished situation and abilities. That peculiar 
tract, generally known by the name of the Brushy Plains of Long 
Island, having been from time immemorial the resort of the bird 
now before us, some account of this particular range of country 
seemed necessarily connected with the subject, and has accord¬ 
ingly been obligingly attended to by the learned Professor : 


52 FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 

“ ‘ New York, Sept. 19, 1810. 

u 1 Dear Sir, —It gives me much pleasure to reply to your 
letter of the 12th inst., asking of me information concerning the 
Grouse of Long Island. 

“ ‘ The birds, which are known there emphatically by the name 
of Grouse, inhabit chiefly the forest range. This district of the 
island may be estimated as being between forty and fifty miles 
in length, extending from Bethphage, in Queen’s County, to the 
neighborhood of the Court-house, in Suffolk. Its breadth is not 
more than six or seven. For though the island is bounded by 
the Sound, separating it from Connecticut on the north and the 
Atlantic Ocean on the south, there is a margin of several miles 
on each side in the actual possession of human beings. 

u ‘ The regions in which these birds reside lie mostly within the 
towns of Oysterbay, Huntington, Islip, Smithstown and Brooklyn; 
though it would be incorrect to say that they were not to be met 
with sometimes in River Head and Southampton. This territory 
has been defined by some sportsmen as situated between Hemp¬ 
stead Plain on the west and Shinnecock Plain on the east. 

u i The more popular name for them is Heath-Hens. By this 
they are designated in the act of our Legislature for the preser¬ 
vation of them and of other game. I well remember the passing 
of this law. The bill was introduced by Cornelius J. Bogart, 
Esq., a Member of Assembly from the city of New York. It 
was in the month of February, 1791, the year when, as a repre¬ 
sentative from my native county of Queen’s, I sat for the first 
time in Legislature. 

“ 4 The statute declares among other things, that u the person 
who shall kill any Heath-Hen within the counties of Suffolk or 
Queen’s, between the 1st day of April and the 5th day of Octo¬ 
ber, shall for any such offence forfeit and pay the sum of two 
dollars and a half, to be recovered with costs of suit by any per¬ 
son who shall prosecute for the same before any Justice of the 
Peace in either of said counties, the one half to be paid to plain¬ 
tiff and the other half to the overseers of the poor ; and if any 
Heath-Hen so killed shall be found in the possession of any per 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


53 


son, he shall be deemed guilty of the offence and suffer the 
penalty. But it is provided that no defendant shall be convicted 
unless the action shall be brought within three months after the 
violation of the law.” 

u 4 The country selected by these exquisite birds requires a more 
particular description. You already understand it to be the 
midland and interior district of the island. The soil of this 
island is, generally speaking, a sandy or gravelly loam. In the 
parts less adapted to tillage, it is more of an unmixed sand. 
This is so much the case, that the shore of the beaches beaten 
by the ocean affords a material from which glass has been pre¬ 
pared. Silicious grains and particles predominate in the region 
chosen by the Heath-Hens or Grouse ; and here there are no 
rocks, and very few stones of any kind. This sandy tract ap¬ 
pears to be a dereliction of the ocean, but is nevertheless not 
doomed to total sterility. Many thousand acres have been re¬ 
claimed from the wild state and rendered very productive to 
man; and within the towns frequented by these birds, there are 
numerous inhabitants, and among them some of our most 
wealthy farmers. But within the same limits there are also 
tracts of great extent, where men have no settlements, and others 
where the population is spare and scanty. These are, however, 
by no means naked deserts; they are, on the contrary, covered 
with trees, shrubs and smaller plants. The trees are mostly 
pitch-pine, of inferior size, and white-oaks of a small growth. 
They are of a quality very fit for burning. Thousands of cords 
of both sorts of fire-wood are annually exported from these 
barrens. Vast quantities are occasionally destroyed by the fires 
which, through carelessness or accident, spread far and wide 
through the woods. The city of New York will probably for 
ages derive fuel from these grounds. The land, after being well 
cleared, yields to the cultivator poor crops. Unless, therefore, 
he can help it by manure, the best disposition is to let it grow 
up to forest again. 

u 1 Experience has proved that in a term of forty or fifty years, 
the new growth of timber will be fit for the axe. Hence it may 


54 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


be perceived that the reproduction of trees, and the protection 
they afford to Heath-Hens, would be perpetual, or in other 
words, not circumscribed by any calculable time, provided the 
persecutors of the latter would be quiet. Beneath these trees 
grow more dwarfish oaks, overspreading the surface, sometimes 
with here and there a shrub, and sometimes a thicket. These 
latter are from about two to ten feet in height. When they are 
the principal product, they are called, in common conversation, 
brush , as the flats on which they grow are termed brushy plains. 
Among this hardy shrubbery may frequently be seen the creep¬ 
ing vegetable, named partridge-berry, covering the sand with its 
lasting verdure. 

“ 4 In many spots the plant which produces hurtleberries sprouts 
up among the other natives of the soil. These are the more 
important; though I ought to inform you, that the hills reach¬ 
ing from east to west and forming the spine of the island, sup¬ 
port kalmias, hickories, and many other species; that I have 
seen azalias and andromedas, as I passed through the wilder¬ 
ness, and that where there is water, cranberries, alders, beeches, 
maples, and other lovers of moisture, take their stations. This 
region, situated thus between the more thickly inhabited strips 
or belts on the north and south sides of the island, is much tra¬ 
velled by waggons, and intersected accordingly by a great num¬ 
ber of paths. 

u 4 As to the birds themselves, the information I possess 
scarcely amounts to an entire history. You who know the dif¬ 
ficulty of collecting facts, will be most ready to excuse my 
deficiencies. The information I give you is such as I rely on. 
For the purpose of gathering the materials, I have repeatedly 
visited their haunts. I have likewise conversed with several 
men who were brought up at the precincts of the Grouse 
ground, who had been witnesses of their habits and manners, 
who were accustomed to shoot them for the market, and who 
have acted as guides foi gentlemen who go the: e for sport. 

44 4 Bulk .—An adult Grouse, when fat, weighs as much as a 
barn-door fowl of moderate size, or about three pounds avoirdu- 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


55 


poise. But the eagerness of the sportsmen is so great, that a 
large proportion of those they kill are but a few months old, 
and have not attained their complete growth. Notwithstanding 
the protection of the law, it is very common to disregard it. 
The retired nature of the situation favors this. It is well under¬ 
stood that an arrangement can be made which will blind and 
silence informers, and the gun is fired with impunity for weeks 
before the time prescribed in the act. To prevent this unfair 
and unlawful practice, an association was formed a few years 
ago, under the title of the L Brush ClubJ with the express and 
avowed intention of enforcing the game law*. Little benefit, 
however, has resulted from its laudable exertions ; and, under a 
conviction that it was impossible to keep poachers away, the so¬ 
ciety declined. 

w i At present the statute may be considered as operating very 
little towards their preservation. Grouse, especially full-grown 
ones, are becoming less frequent. Their numbers are gradually 
diminishing ; and, assailed as they are on all sides, almost with¬ 
out cessation, their scarcity may be viewed as foreboding their 
eventual extermination. 

u £ Price .—Twenty years ago, a brace of Grouse could be bought 
for a dollar. They cost now from three to five dollars. A 
handsome pair seldom sells in the New York market now-a-days 
for less than thirty shillings—three dollars and seventy-five 
cents—nor for more than forty, five dollars. 

u ‘ These prices indicate, indeed, the depreciation of money and 
the luxury of eating. They prove at the same time that Grouse 
are become rare ; and this fact is admitted by every man who 
seeks them, whether for pleasure or profit. 

“ £ Amours .—The season for pairing is in March, and the breed¬ 
ing time is continued through April and May. Then the male 
Grouse distinguishes himself by a peculiar sound. When he 
utters it, the parts about the throat are sensibly inflated and 
swelled. It may be heard on a still morning for three or more 
miles ; some say they have perceived it as far as five or six. 
This noise is a sort of ventriloquism. It does not strike the ear 


56 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


of the bystander with much force, but impresses him with the 
idea, though produced within a few rods of him, of a voice a 
mile or two distant. This note is highly characteristic. Though 
very peculiar, it is termed tooting , from its resemblance to the 
blowing of a conch as heard from a remote quarter. 

u 4 The female makes her nest on the ground, in recesses very 
rarely discovered by man. She usually lays from ten to twelve 
eggs. Their color is of a brownish yellow, much resembling those 
of a Guinea-Hen. When hatched, the brood is protected by her 
alone. Surrounded by her young, the mother bird much resem¬ 
bles a domestic Hen and Chickens. She frequently leads them 
to feed in the roads crossing the woods, on the remains of maize 
and oats contained in the dung dropped by the travelling horses. 
In that employment they are often surprised by the passengers. 
On that occasion the dam utters a cry of alarm. The little ones 
immediately scamper to the brush, and while they are skulking 
into places of safety, their anxious parent beguiles the spectator 
by drooping and fluttering her wings, limping along the path, 
rolling over in the dirt, and other pretences of inability to walk 
or fly. 

“ 1 Food .—A favorite article of their diet is the Heath-Hen plum 
or partridge-berry, before mentioned ; they also use hurtleberries 
or cranberries. Worms and insects of several kinds are occasion¬ 
ally found in their crops. But in the winter they subsist chiefly 
on acorns and the buds of trees which have shed their leaves. 
In their stomachs have been sometimes observed the leaves of a 
plant supposed to be a winter-green ; and it is said when they 
are much pinched, they betake themselves to the buds of the 
pine. In convenient places they have been known to enter 
cleared fields and regale themselves on the leaves of clover, and 
old gunners hi.\ e reported that they have been known to tres¬ 
pass upon patches of buckwheat and peck up the grains. 

“ 4 Wigration .—They are stationary, and are never known to quit 
their abode. There are no facts showing in them any disposi¬ 
tion to migration. On frosty mornings, and during snow, they 
perch on the upper branches of pine trees. They avoid wet 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


57 


and swampy places, and are remarkably attached to dry ground. 
The low and open brush is preferred to high and shrubby thick¬ 
ets. Into these latter places they fly for refuge, when closely 
pressed by the hunters; and here, under a stiff and impenetrable 
cover, they escape the pursuit of dogs and men. Water is so 
seldom met with on the true GRousE-ground, that it is necessary 
to carry it along for the pointers to drink. The flights of Grouse 
are short, but sudden, rapid and whirring. I have not heard of 
any success in taming them. They seem to resist all attempts at 
domestication In this, as well as in many other respects, they 
resemble the Quail of New York, or the Partridge of Penn¬ 
sylvania 

“ ‘ Manners .—During the period of mating, and while the fe¬ 
males are occupied in incubation, the males have a practice of 
assembling principally by themselves. To some select and cen¬ 
tral spot, where there is very little underwood, they repair from 
the adjoining district. From the exercises performed there, 
this is called a scratching-place. The time of meeting is the 
break of day. As soon as the light appears, the company as¬ 
sembles from every side, sometimes to the number of forty or 
fifty. When the dawn is passed, the ceremony begins by a low 
tooting from one of the cocks. This is answered by another. 
They then come forth, one by one, from the bushes, and strut 
about with all the pride and ostentation they can display. Their 
necks are incurvated, the feathers on them are erected into a sort 
of ruff; the plumes of the tails are expanded like fans ; they 
strut about in a style resembling, as nearly as small may be il¬ 
lustrated by great, the pomp of the Turkey-Cock. They seem 
to vie with each other in stateliness, and, as they pass each other, 
frequently cast looks of insult and utter notes of defiance. These 
are the signals for battles. They engage with wonderful spirit 
and fierceness. During these contests, they leap a foot or two 
from the ground, and utter a cackling, screaming and discordant 
cry. They have been found in these places of resort even earlier 
than the appearance of light in the east. This fact leads to the 
belief, that a part of them assemble over night. The rest join them 


53 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


in the morning. This leads to the farther belief that they roost 
on the ground ; and the opinion is confirmed by the discovery of 
little rings of dung, apparently deposited by a flock which had 
passed the night together. After the appearance of the sun, 
they disperse. These places of exhibition have been often dis¬ 
covered by the hunters, and a fatal discovery it has been for 
poor Grouse. 

u c The destroyers construct for themselves lurking-holes made 
of pine branches, called bough-houses , within a few yards of the 
parade, and hither they repair with their fowling-pieces, in the 
latter part of the night, and wait the appearance of the birds. 
Waiting the moment when two are proudly eyeing each other, 
or engaged in battle, or when a greater number can be seen in a 
range, they pour on them a destructive charge of shot. This 
annoyance has been given in so many places, and to such an ex¬ 
tent, that the Grouse, after having been repeatedly disturbed, 
are afraid to assemble. On approaching the spot to which their 
instinct prompts them, they perch on the neighboring trees, in 
stead of alighting at the scratching-place ; and it remains to be 
observed how far the restless and tormenting spirit of the marks¬ 
man may alter the nature and habits of the Grouse, and oblige 
them to new ways of life. They commonly keep together, in 
coveys or packs, as the phrase is, until the pairing season. A 
full pack consists, of course, of ten or a dozen. Two packs 
have been known to associate. I lately heard of one whose 
number amounted to twenty-two. They are so unapt to be 
startled, that a hunter, assisted by a dog, has been able to shoot 
almost a whole pack, without making any of them take wing. 
In like manner, the men lying in concealment near the scratch- 
ing-places, have been known to discharge several guns before 
either the report of the explosion or the sight of their wounded 
or dead fellows would rouse them to flight. It has been farther 
remarked that when a company of sportsmen have surrounded a 
pack of Grouse, the birds seldom or never rise upon their pin¬ 
ions while they are encircled ; but each runs along until it 
passes the person that is nearest, and then flutters off with the 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


59 


utmost expedition. As you have made no enquiry of me con¬ 
cerning the ornithological character of these birds, I have not 
mentioned it, premising that you are already perfectly acquaint¬ 
ed with their classification and description. In a short memoir, 
written in 1803, and printed in the eighth volume of the Medica 
Repository , I ventured an opinion as to the genus and spectes. 
Whether I was correct is a technical matter, which I leave you 
to adjust. I am well aware that European accounts of our pro¬ 
ductions are often erroneous, and require revision and amend¬ 
ment. This you must perform. For me it remains to repeat 
my joy at the opportunity your invitation has afforded me to 
contribute somewhat to your elegant work, and at the same 
time to assure you of my earnest hope that you may be favored 
with ample means to complete it. 

“ 4 Samuel L. Mitchill.’ ” 

44 Duly sensible of the honor of the foregoing communication, 
and grateful for the good wishes with which it is concluded, I 
shall now, in further elucidation of the subject, subjoin a few 
particulars, properly belonging to my own department. 

44 It is somewhat extraordinary that the European naturalists, 
in their various accounts of our different species of Grouse, should 
have said little or nothing of the one now before us, which in its 
voice, manners, and peculiarity of plumage, is the most singular, 
and in its flesh the most excellent of all those of its tribe, that 
inhabit the territory of the United States. It seems to have es¬ 
caped Catesby, during his residence and different tours through 
this country, and it was not till more than twenty years after his 
return to England, viz., 1743, that he first saw some of these 
birds, as he informs us, at Cheswick, the seat of the Earl of 
Wilmington. His lordship said they came from America ; but 
from what particular part could not tell. Buffon has confounded 
it with the Ruffed Grouse, the Common Partridge of New 
England, or Pheasant of Pennsylvania, (Tetrao XJmbellus.) 
Edwards and Pennant have, however, discovered that it is a 
different species, but have said little of its note, of its flesh or 


60 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


peculiarities ; for alas, there was neither voice or action, nor de¬ 
licacy of flavor in the shrunk and decayed skin from which the 
former took his figure and the latter his description ; and to this 
circumstance must be attributed the barrenness and defects of 
both. This rare bird, though an inhabitant of different and 
very distant districts of North America, is extremely particular 
in selecting his place of residence, pitching only upon those 
tracts whose features and productions correspond with his mode 
of life, and avoiding immense intermediate regions that he 
never visits. Open, dry places, thinly interspersed with trees, or 
partially overgrown with shrub-oak, are his favorite haunts. 
Accordingly, we find these birds on the GROusE-plains of New 
Jersey, in Burlington County, as well as on the brushy plains of 
Long Island; among the trees and shrub-oaks of Pocano, in 
Northampton County, in Pennsylvania; over the whole extent of 
the barrens of Kentucky, on the luxuriant plains and prairies of 
the Indiana and Upper Louisiana, and according to the informa¬ 
tion of the late Governor Lewis, on the vast remote plains of 
the Columbia River, in all these places preserving the same 
singular habits. Their predilection for such situations will be 
best accounted for by considering the following facts and circum¬ 
stances :—First, their mode of flight is generally direct and labo¬ 
rious—ill calculated for the labyrinth of a high and thick forest, 
crowded and intersected with trunks and arms of trees that require 
continual angular evolution of wing or sudden turnings, to which 
they are by no means accustomed. I have always observed 
them to avoid the high-timbered groves that occur here and there 
in the Barrens. Connected with this fact is a circumstance 
related to me by a very respectable inhabitant of that county— 
viz., that one forenoon a Cock-GRousE struck the stone chimney 
of his house with such force, as instantly to fall dead to the 
ground. Secondly, their known dislike of ponds, marshes, or 
watery places, which they avoid, drinking but seldom, and it is 
believed never from such places. Even in confinement this 
peculiarity has been taken notice of. While I was in the State 
of Tennessee, a person, living within a few miles of Nashville, 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


61 


had caught an old Hen-Grouse in a trap, and being obliged to keep 
her in a large cage, she struck and abused the rest of the poul¬ 
try, he remarked that she never drank, and that she even avoided 
that quarter of the cage where the cup containing the water was 
placed. Happening one day to let some water fall on the cage, it 
trickled down in drops along the bars, which the bird no sooner 
observed than she eagerly picked them off, drop by drop, with 
a dexterity that showed she had been habituated to this mode 
of quenching her thirst, and probably to this mode only, in those 
dry and barren tracts, where, except the drops of dew and 
drops of rain, water is very rarely to be met with. For the 
space of a week he watched her closely, to discover whether 
she still refused to drink; but, though she was constantly fed 
on Indian corn, the cup and water still remained untouched 
and untasted. Yet, no sooner did he again sprinkle water on 
the bars of the cage, than she eagerly and rapidly picked them 
off, as before. The last and probably the strongest inducement 
to their preferring these places, is the small acorn of the shrub- 
oak, the strawberries, huckleberries and partridge-berries, with 
which they abound, and which constitute the principal part of 
the food of these birds. These brushy thickets also afford them 
excellent shelter, being almost impenetrable to dogs or birds of 
prey. In all those places where they inhabit, they are, in the 
strictest sense of the word, resident; having their particular haunts 
and places of rendezvous—as described in the preceding ac¬ 
count—to which they are strongly attached. Yet they have 
been known to abandon an entire tract of such country, when, 
from whatever cause it might proceed, it became again covered 
with forest. A few miles south of the town of York, in Penn¬ 
sylvania, commences an extent of country fairly of the charac¬ 
ter described, now chiefly covered with wood, but still retaining 
the name of Barrens. In the recollection of an old man, born 
in that part of the country, this tract abounded with Grouse. 
The timber growing up, in progress of years, these birds totally 
disappeared, and for a long period of time he had seen none of 
them, until, migrating with his family to Kentucky, on entering 


6 2 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


the Barrens, he one morning recognized the well-known music 
of his old acquaintances, the Grouse, which, he assures me, are 
the very same with those he had known in Pennsylvania. But, 
what appeared to me the most remarkable circumstance relative 
to this bird, is, that none of all those writers who have attempted 
its history, have taken the least notice of those two extraordi¬ 
nary bags of yellow skin, which mark the neck of the male, and 
which constitute so striking a peculiarity. These appear to be 
formed by an expansion of the gullet, as well as of the exterior 
skin of the neck, which, when the bird is at rest, hangs in loose, 
pendulous wrinkled folds along the side of the neck, the supple¬ 
mental wings, at the same time, as well as when the bird is fly¬ 
ing, lying along the neck. But when these bags are inflated 
with air, in breeding-time, they are equal in size, and very 
much resemble in color a middle-sized, fully-ripe orange. By 
means of this curious apparatus, which is very observable seve¬ 
ral hundred yards off, he is enabled to produce the extraordinary 
sound mentioned above, which though it may easily be imitated, 
is yet difficult to describe by words. It consists of three notes 
of the same tone, resembling those produced by the Night- 
Hawks, in their rapid descent, each strongly accented, the latter 
being twice as long as the others. When several are thus en¬ 
gaged, the ear is unable to distinguish the regularity of those 
triple notes, there being at such times one continued humming, 
which is disagreeable and perplexing, from the impossibility of 
ascertaining from what distance or quarter it proceeds. While 
uttering this, the bird exhibits all the ostentatious gesticulations 
of a Turkey-cock, erecting and fluttering his neck-wings, wheel¬ 
ing and passing before the female, and close before his fellows, 
as in defiance. Now and then are heard some rapid, cackling 
notes, not unlike that of a person tickled to excessive laughter ; 
and, in short, one can scarcely listen to them without feeling 
disposed to laugh from sympathy. These are uttered by the 
the males, while engaged in fight, on which occasion they leap 
up against each other, exactly in the manner of Turkies, seem¬ 
ingly with more malice than effect. This humming continues 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


63 


from a little before day-break to eight or nine o’clock in the 
morning, when the parties separate to seek for food. 

“ Fresh-ploughed fields in the vicinity of their resorts are 
sure to be visited by these birds, every morning, and frequently 
also in the evening. On one of these I counted, at one time, 
seventeen males, most of whom were in the attitude repre¬ 
sented, making such a continued sound as, I am persuaded, 
might have been heard more than a mile off. The people of 
the Barrens informed me that when the weather becomes se¬ 
vere, with snow, they approach the barn and farm-house^ and 
are sometimes seen sitting on the fields in the Indian corn, seem¬ 
ing almost domesticated. At such times great numbers are taken 
in traps. No pains, however, on regular plans, have ever been 
persisted in, as far as I was informed, to domesticate these 
delicious birds. A Mr. Reid, who lives between the Pilot- 
Knobs and Bairdstown, told me that, a few years ago, one of his 
sons found a Grouse’s nest, with fifteen eggs, which he brought 
home and immediately placed beneath a hen then sitting, tak¬ 
ing away her own. The nest of the Grouse was on the 
ground, under a tussock of long grass, formed with very little 
art and few materials. The eggs were brownish white, and 
about the size of a pullet’s. In three or four days, the whole 
were hatched. Instead of following the Hen, they compelled 
her to move after them, distracting her with the extent and di¬ 
versity of their wanderings ; and it was a day or two before they 
seemed to understand her language, or consent to be guided by 
her. They were let out to the fields, where they paid little 
regard to their nurse, and, in a few days, only three of them re¬ 
mained. These became exceedingly tame and familiar, were 
most expert fly-catchers, but soon after they also disappeared. 

“ On dissecting these birds, the gizzard was found extremely 
muscular, having almost the hardness of a stone; the heart 
remarkably large ; the crop was filled with briar-knots, con¬ 
taining the larviB of some insect, quantities of a species of 
green lichen, small, hard seeds, and some grains of Indian Corn.” 
— Wilson*s Am. Ornith. 

VOL. i. 


7 


u 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


Next to this fine bird, both in bis game qualities and the 
excellence of his flesh, I note, unhesitatingly, 


THE RUFFED GROUSE. 

Tetrao Umbellus. Linn: Wilson: Audubon. La Gelinotte Hup - 
pee de Pennsylvanie. Brissot.—The Pheasant , or Partridge. 

“ Male, 18.24. 

“ Common from Maryland to Labrador, and, in the interior, 
from the mountainous districts to Canada and the Jashatchewan, 
Columbian River. Resident. 

u Adult Male. 

u Bill short, robust, slightly arched, rather obtuse ; the base 
covered by feathers ; upper mandible, with the dorsal outline, 
straight in the feathered part, convex toward the end, the edges 
overlapping, the tip declinate; under mandible somewhat bulg¬ 
ing toward the tip ; the sides convex. Nostrils concealed among 
the feathers. Head and neck small. Body bulky. Feet of or¬ 
dinary length. Shank feathered, excepting at the lower part in 
front, where it is scutellate, spurless ; toes scutellate above, pec¬ 
tinate on the sides ; claws arched, depressed, obtuse. 

“ Plumage compact, glossy. Feathers of head narrow, and 
elongated into a curved tuft. A large space on the neck desti¬ 
tute of feathers, but covered by an erectile ruff of elongated fea¬ 
thers, of which the upper are silky, shining, and curved forward at 
the end, which is very broad and rounded. Wings short, broad, 
curved, and much rounded. Tail long, ample, rounded, of 
eighteen feathers. 

u Bill brown color, brownish-black toward the tip. Iris hazel. 
Feet yellowish-gray. Upper part of the head and wing part 
of the neck bright yellowish-red. Back rich chesnut, marked 
with oblong white spots, margined with black. 

“ Tail reddish-yellow, barred and minutely mottled with black, 
and terminated by a broad band of the latter color, between two 
narrow bands of bluish-white, of which the one is terminal. A 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


65 


yellowish band from the upper mandible to the eye, beyond 
which it is prolonged. Throat and lower part of the neck light 
brownish-yellow. Lower ruff feathers of the same color, barred 
with reddish-brown ; the upper black, with blue reflections. A 
tuft of light chesnut feathers under the wings. The rest of the 
under parts yellowish-white, with broad, transverse spots of 
brownish-red ; the abdomen yellowish-red; and the under tail 
coverts mottled with brown. 

“ Length, 18 inches ; extent of wings, 2 feet; bill, along the 
ridge, £ ; along the gap, 1^ ; shank, l^L; middle toe, l£. 

“ Adult female. 

u The plumage of the female is less developed, and inferior in 
beauty. The feathers of the head and ruff* are less elongated ; 
the latter of a dull black. The tints of the plumage generally 
are lighter than in the male. 

“ The eggs usually measure an inch and a half in length, by 
an inch and two-twelfths in breadth, and are of an uniform dull 
yellowish tint.”— Audubon's Birds of America. 

“ This is the Partridge of the Eastern States, and the Phea¬ 
sant of Pennsylvania and the Southern Districts. It is represent¬ 
ed as it was faithfully copied from a perfect and very beautiful 
specimen. This elegant species is well known in almost 
every quarter of the United States, and appears to inhabit 
a very extensive range of country. It is common at Moose 
Fort, on Hudson’s Bay, in lat. 51°, is frequent in the 
upper parts of Georgia, very abundant in Kentucky, and 
the Indiana Territory, and was found by Capts. Lewis and 
Clark in crossing the great range of mountains that divide 
the waters of the Columbia and Missouri more than three 
thousand miles, by the measurement, from the mouth of the 
latter. Its favorite places of resort are high mountains, cov¬ 
ered with the balsam, pine, hemlock, and other evergreens. 
Unlike the Pinnated Grouse, it always prefers the woods, is 
seldom or never found in open plains, but loves the pine-shel¬ 
tered declivities of mountains near streams of water 


66 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


( This great difference of disposition in two species whose food 
seems to be nearly the same, is very extraordinary. In those 
open plains called the Barrens, in Kentucky, the Pinnated 
Grouse was seen in great numbers, but none of the Ruffed. 
While in the high groves with which this singular tract of coun¬ 
try is interspersed, the latter, or Pheasant, was frequently met 
with, but not a single individual of the former. The native haunts 
of the Pheasant, being a cold, high, mountainous, and woody 
country, it is natural to expect that as we descend from thence 
to the sea shores, and the low, flat, and warm climate of the 
Southern States, these birds should become more rare, and 
such is indeed the case. In the low parts of Carolina, and Geor¬ 
gia, and Florida, they are very seldom observed, but as we 
advance inland to the mountains, they again make their appear¬ 
ance. In the low parts of New Jersey we indeed occasionally 
meet with them, but this is owing to the more northerly situa¬ 
tion of the country, for even here they are far less numerous 
than among the mountains. Dr. Burton, and several other 
English writers, have spoken of a Long-tailed Grouse, said to 
inhabit the back parts of Virginia, which can be no other than 
the present species ; there being, as far as I am acquainted, only 
these two,* the Ruffed and Pinnated Grouse, found natives within 
the United States. The manners of the Pheasant are solitary, 
they are seldom found in coveys of more than four or five together, 
and more usually in pairs, or singly. They leave their seques¬ 
tered haunts in the woods early in the morning, and seek the 
path or road to pick up gravel, and glean among the droppings 
of the horses. In travelling among the mountains that bound 
the Susquehanna, I was always able to furnish myself with an 
abundant supply of these birds without leaving the path. If the 
weather be foggy or lowering, they are sure to be seen in such 
situations. They generally move along with great stateliness, 
the broad, fan-like tail spread out. 

“ The drumming, as it is usually called, of the Pheasant, 
is another singularity of this species. This is performed by the 

* This is, of course, an error of Wilson’s 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


67 


male alone. In walking through the solitary woods frequented 
by these birds, a stranger is surprised by suddenly hearing a 
kind of thumping, very similar to that produced by striking two 
full-blown ox-bladders together, but much louder; the strokes 
at first are slow and distinct, but gradually increase in rapidity, 
till they run into each other : resembling the rumbling sound of 
very distant thunder dying away gradually on the ear. After a 
few minutes’ pause, this is again repeated, and in a calm day 
may be heard nearly a mile off. This drumming is most com¬ 
mon in spring, and is the call of the cock to a favorite female. 
It is produced in the following manner : The bird, standing on 
an old prostrate log, generally in a retired and sheltered situa¬ 
tion, lowers his wings, erects his expanded tail, contracts his 
throat, elevates the two tufts of feathers on the neck, and 
inflates his whole body something in the manner of a Turkey- 
cock, strutting and wheeling about in great stateliness. After a 
few manoeuvres of this kind he begins to strike with his stiffened 
wings in short and quick strokes, which become more and more 
rapid until they run into each other, as has been already describ¬ 
ed. This is most common in the morning and evening, though I 
have heard them drumming at all hours of the day. By means 
of this, the gunner is led to his retreat, though to those unac¬ 
quainted with the sound there is great deception in the supposed 
distance, it generally appearing to be much nearer than it really 
is. The Pheasant* begins to pair in April, and builds its nest 
early in May. This is placed on the ground at the root of a 
bush, old log, or other sheltered or solitary situation, well-sur¬ 
rounded with withered leaves. Unlike that of the Quail, it is 
open above, and is usually composed of dry leaves and grass. 
The eggs are from nine to fifteen in number, of brownish-white, 
without any spots, and nearly as large as those of a Pullet. The 
young leave the nest as soon as hatched, and are directed by the 
cluck of the mother, very much in the manner of the common 
Hen. On being surprised, she exhibits all the distress and affec¬ 
tionate manoeuvres of the Quail, and most other birds, to lead you 

* An error! The Ruffed Grouse is polygamous, and does not pair at alL 


68 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


away from the spot. I once started a Hen Pheasant with a 
single young one, seemingly only a few days old; there might 
have been more, but I observed only this one. The mother 
fluttered before me for a moment, but suddenly darted towards 
the young one, seized it in her bill, and flew off along the sur¬ 
face through the woods with great steadiness and rapidity, till 
she was beyond my sight, leaving me in great surprise at the 
incident. I made a very close and active search around the spot 
for the rest, but without success. Here was a striking instance 
of something more than what is termed blind instinct, in this 
remarkable deviation from her usual manoeuvres when she has 
a numerous brood. It would have been impossible for me to 
have injured the affectionate mother who had exhibited such an 
example of presence of mind, reason, and sound judgment as 
must have convinced the most bigoted advocate of mere instinct. 
To carry off a whole brood in this manner at once, would have 
been impossible, and to attempt to save one at the expense of the 
the rest, would be unnatural. She, therefore, usually takes the 
only possible mode of saving them in that case, by decoying the 
person in pursuit of herself, by such a natural imitation of lameness 
as to impose on most people. But here, in the case of a single, 
solitary young one, she instantly altered her plan, and adopted 
the most simple and effectual means for its preservation. The 
Pheasant usually springs within a few yards, with a loud whir¬ 
ring noise, and flies with great vigor through the woods, beyond 
reach of view, before it alights. With a good dog, however, 
they are easily found, and at some times exhibit a singular 
degree of infatuation, by looking down from the branches where 
they sit, on the dog below, who, the more noise he keeps up, 
seems the more to confuse and stupify them, so that they may 
be shot down one by one till the whole are killed, without 
attempting to fly off. In such cases, those on the lower limbs 
must be taken first; for should the upper be first killed, in their 
fall they alarm those below, who immediately fly off. In deep 
snows they are usually taken in traps, commonly dead traps, 
supported by a figure 4 trigger. At this season, when suddenly 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


69 


alarmed, they frequently dive into the snow, particularly when 
it has newly fallen, and coming out at a considerable distance, 
again take wing. They are pretty hard to kill, and will often 
carry off a large load to the distance of two hundred yards, and 
drop down dead. Sometimes in the depth of winter they ap¬ 
proach the farm-house, and lurk near the barn or about the 
garden. They have, also, been often taken young, and tamed, 
so as to associate with the fowls ; and their eggs have frequently 
been hatched under the common Hen, but these rarely survive 
until full grown. They are exceedingly fond of the seeds of 
grapes, occasionally eat ants, chesnuts, blackberries, and vari¬ 
ous vegetables. Formerly they were numerous in the immedi¬ 
ate vicinity of Philadelphia, but as the woods were cleared, and 
population increased, they retreated to the interior. At present 
there are very few to be found within several miles of the city, 
and those only singly in the most solitary and retired woody 
recesses. The Pheasant is in best order for the table in Sep¬ 
tember and October. At this season they feed chiefly on wor- 
tleberries, and the little aromatic partridgeberries, the last of 
which give the flesh a peculiar delicate flavor. With the former, 
our mountains are literally covered from August to November, and 
these constitute at that season, the greater part of their food. 
During the deep snows of winter they have recourse to the buds 
of alder, and the tender buds of laurel. I have frequently found 
their crops distended with a large handful of these latter alone, 
and it has been confidently asserted that after being fed for some 
time on the laurel buds, the flesh becomes highly dangerous to 
eat of, partaking of the poisonous qualities of the plant. The 
same has been asserted of the flesh of the deer, when, in severe 
weather and deep snows they subsist on the leaves and bark of 
the laurel. Though I have myself ate freely of the flesh of the 
Pheasant, after emptying it of large quantities of laurel buds, 
without experiencing any bad consequences ; yet from the re¬ 
spectability of those, some of them eminent physicians, who 
have particularized cases in which it has proved deleterious and 
even fatal, I am inclined to believe in certain cases, where this 


70 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


kind of food has been long continued, and the birds allowed to 
remain undrawn for several days, until the contents of the crop 
and stomach have had time to diffuse themselves through the 
flesh, as is too often the case, it may be unwholesome, and even 
dangerous. Great numbers of these birds are brought to our 
markets at all times during fall and winter, some of which are 
brought from a distance of more than a hundred miles, and have 
been probably dead a week or two, unpicked and undrawn, 
before they are purchased for the table. 

u Regulations prohibiting them from being brought to market, 
unless picked and drawn, would very probably be a sufficient 
security against all danger. At these inclement seasons, how¬ 
ever, they are lean and dry, and, indeed, at all times, their flesh 
is far inferior to that of the Pinnated Grouse. They are usually 
sold in Philadelphia market at from three-quarters of a dollar 
to a dollar.and a quarter a pair,—sometimes higher.”— Wilson's 
Am. Ornith. 

The last of this species which it is worth our while to notice 
as a sporting bird, is the Canada Grouse, and even it, although 
Mr. Audubon speaks of it as abundant in parts of Maine, and 
although it unquestionably exists in the north-eastern angle of 
New York, is so rarely met, and so shy, as to be known to very 
few of our sportsmen. 

The Willow Grouse, or Willow Ptarmigan, perhaps the 
most beautiful of all the American species, and perhaps to be 
met with in the extreme north of Maine, is too uncommon to be 
classed as game. I fear, indeed, that few of my readers will 
ever have the good fortune to kill the beautiful little Grouse of 
which we are now speaking. I doubt whether it would ever lie 
to dogs. It is a solitary forest bird. 


CANADA OBOFST? 






















































































































































































UPLAND SHOOTING 


71 


THE CANADA GROUSE. 

Tetrao Canadensis. Linn: Bonaparte: Audubon. Spotted 
Grouse ; Franklin's Grouse ; Spruce Partridge. 

“ Male, 15£.2l£. Female, 151.21. 

w Plentiful from the Northern parts of New York to Labra¬ 
dor, as well as from Canada to the Arctic Sea, Columbia River. 
Partially migratory in winter. 

u Adult Male. 

u Bill short, robust, slightly arched, rather obtuse; the base 
covered by feathers; upper mandible with the dorsal outline 
convex toward the end—the edges sharp and overhanging—the 
tip declinate; lower mandible slightly convex in its dorsal out¬ 
line ; the back broad and rounded; the sides sloping outward ; 
the tip rather rounded. Nostrils basal, lateral, concealed by the 
short feathers. Head small; neck of ordinary length ; body 
full. Feet short, rather small; tarsus short, roundish, feathered. 
Toes scutellate above, broadly margined and pectinate ; the an¬ 
terior ones connected by a web at the base ; the hind toe very 
small, the two lateral about equal, the middle one much longer ; 
claws short, arched, compressed, rather obtuse. 

u Plumage compact, slightly glossed. Feathers of the head 
very short. Wings short, broad, much rounded and curved, the 
third quill longest, the fourth next, the second and fifth nearly 
equal, the first very short. Tail ample, of ordinary length, 
rounded, of sixteen broad rotundate truncate* feathers, having a 
minute mucio. 

“ Bill and claws brownish black. Irisf hazle. Fringed mem¬ 
brane over the eyes, vermillion. Toes purplish gray. Upper 
plumage and flanks brownish black, transversely barred with 
brownish gray; the tip of each feather with two bars of the latr 
ter color; on the hind parts the bars are larger, and the pale 

* Truncate —Cut off short and abruptly. 

t In's—The circle about the pupil of the eye 


72 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


ones more tinged with brown. Quills and larger coverts, black¬ 
ish brown, the outer edges of the primaries pale brownish gi ay, 
and those of the secondaries minutely mottled with the same. 
Tail coverts brownish black, minutely mottled and tipped with 
grayish white ; tail feathers darker, and tipped with dull brown¬ 
ish red- Lower parts black, the feathers on the throat having 
a white spot near the end ; those of the lower and lateral parts 
of the neck unspotted ; of the breast, with a broad, subterminal 
spot, and the under tail coverts largely tipped with white. Inner 
wing coverts above brown, the proximal and axillaries tipped 
with white. 

u Length, 15f inches; extent of wings, 21f; bill, along the 
back, ^; along the edge, 1 fz ; tarsus, ; weight, 17oz. 

u Adult female. 

u The female is not much smaller. The superciliary mem¬ 
brane is much less, but of the same color. The upper parts are 
nearly of the same tints, but more broadly barred ; the head, 
sides of the neck, fore * neck, and anterior parts of the breast, 
yellowish gray, barred with brownish black; the lower parts, 
grayish black, barred with reddish white. The tail is minutely 
tipped and mottled with brownish red. The younger females 
have more of the yellowish red tints than the old ones. In other 
respects, the coloring is nearly similar. 

“ Length, 15£ inches; extent of wings, 21 ; weight, 15oz.”— 
Audubon. 

Inasmuch as this rare and beautiful little species of Grouse is 
almost entirely unknown to our sportsmen, as I have never 
found any who have killed it, and very few who are aware of 
its existence; and as, with a single exception, I have never but 
once shot it, though I have on several occasions tried for it in 
the State of Maine, on the waters of the Penobscot, I cannot 
speak as to its habits or haunts with any certainty, from my own 
personal experience, or from the report of sportsmen. I am in¬ 
clined to believe, however, that it is not a bird which will be 
found to yield much sport, as I doubt its lying to setters or 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 73 

pointers, or being met with in sufficient numbers to render the 
pursuit of it pleasurable or exciting. 

The single specimen which I killed, rose suddenly from the 
ground, which was covered with snow to the depth of a foot or 
more, in a little dell or basin, full of tall larch and spruce-firs, 
just as I came over the brow of the hill; and I was fortunate 
enough to kill it at long range, by a snap shot. It was a fine 
cock bird, agreeing in all respects accurately with the above de¬ 
scription, from the pages of the greatest living naturalist. 

Feeling that something more than this bare notice is due to 
this beautiful bird, and with some faint hope that, by calling the 
attention of sportsmen to the undoubted fact of its existence 
within our sporting limits, I may add one to our list of game, I 
shall proceed to quote from the author already noticed, whose 
ornithological distinctions and descriptions I shall adopt through¬ 
out this work, the following graphic account of his experience 
as relates to this Grouse. 

I say, that I entertain but a faint hope, because among many 
intelligent and observing friends, keen sportsmen and good shots, 
both in Lower Canada and New Brunswick, I have never heard 
this Grouse named as a bird of game. In fact, I believe that no 
bird which haunts the depths of the North American wilderness 
can, under any circumstances, afford much sport to the legiti¬ 
mate pursuer, though they may be treed with cur-dogs, and 
shot sitting, in sufficient numbers to supply markets, and to 
satisfy the sporting aspirations of the prowling, backwoods’ 
gunner. 

u No sooner had I entered the State of Maine, than I consi¬ 
dered the Canada Grouse as one of the principal objects of my 
enquiry. Every person to whom I spoke about it, assured me 
that it was rather abundant during the whole year, and conse¬ 
quently that it bred in the country. All this I fortunately 
proved to be quite true ; but no one told me of the difficulties I 
should have to encounter in watching its habits ; and although I 
ultimately succeeded in this, the task was perhaps as severe as 
any which I ever undertook. 


74 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


“ In August, 1832, I reached the delightful little village of 
Dennisville, about eighteen miles distant from Eastport. There 
I had the good fortune to become an inmate of the kind and most 
hospitable family of Judge Lincoln, who has resided there for 
nearly half a century, and who is blessed with a family of sons 
equal to any with whom I am acquainted, for talents, persever¬ 
ance and industry. Each of these had his own peculiar avoca¬ 
tion, and I naturally attached myself more particularly to one 
who, ever since his childhood, manifested a decided preference 
for ornithological pursuits. This young gentleman, Thomas 
Lincoln, offered to lead me to those retired woods, where the 
Spruce Partridges were to be found. We accordingly set out 
on the 27th of August, my two sons accompanying us. Thomas, 
being a perfect woodsman, advanced at our head, and I can as¬ 
sure you, reader, that to follow him through the dense and 
tangled woods of his native country, or over the deep mosses of 
Labrador, where he accompanied me afterward, would be an 
undertaking not easily accomplished. We, however, managed 
to follow our guide the whole day, over fallen trees, among 
tangled brushwood, and through miry ponds ; yet not a single 
Grouse did we find, even in the places where he had before seen 
them ; and great was my mortification when, on our return, 
toward sunset, as we were crossing a meadow belonging to his 
father, not more than a quarter of a mile from the village, the 
people employed in making hay informed us that about half an 
hour after our departure, they had seen a fine covey. We were 
too much fatigued to go in search of them, and therefore made 
for home. 

‘ 1 Ever ardent, if not impatient, I immediately made arrange¬ 
ments for procuring some of these birds, offering a good price 
for a few pairs of old and young, and in a few days renewed my 
search, in company with a man, who had assured me he could 
guide me to their breeding-grounds, which he actually did, to 
my great pleasure. These breeding-grounds I cannot better 
describe, than by telling you that the larch forests, which are 
here called 4 Hackmetack Woods,’ are as difficult to traverse 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


75 


as the most tangled swamps of Labrador. The whole ground 
is covered by the most beautiful carpeting of verdant moss, over 
which the light-footed Grouse walk with ease, but among which 
we sunk at every step or two up to the waist, our legs stuck in 
the mire, and our bodies squeezed beneath the dead trunks and 
branches of the trees, the minute leaves of which insinuated 
themselves between my clothes, and nearly blinded me. We 
saved our guns from injury, however, and seeing some of the 
Spruce Partridges before they perceived us, we procured seve¬ 
ral specimens. They were in beautiful plumage, but all male 
birds. It is in such places that these birds usually reside, and it 
is very seldom that they are seen in the open grounds, beyond 
the borders of their almost impenetrable retreats. On returning 
to my family, I found that another hunter had brought two fine 
females, but had foolishly neglected to bring the young ones, 
which he had caught and given to his children, who, to my great 
mortification, had already cooked them when my messenger ar¬ 
rived at his house. 

“ The Spruce Partridge, or Canada Grouse, breeds in the 
States of Maine and Massachusetts, about the middle of May? 
nearly a month earlier than at Labrador. The males pay their 
addresses to the females, by strutting before them on the ground 
or moss, in the manner of the Turkey-cock, frequently rising se¬ 
veral yards in the air, in a spiral manner, when they beat their 
wings violently against their body, thereby producing a drum¬ 
ming noise, clearer than that of the Ruffed Grouse, and which 
can be heard at a considerable distance. The female places her 
nest beneath the low horizontal branches of fir-trees, taking 
care to conceal it well. It consists of a bed of twigs, dry leaves 
and mosses, on which she deposits from eight to fourteen eggs, 
of a deep fawn color, irregularly splashed with different tints of 
brown. They raise only one brood in the season, and the young 
follow the mother as soon as they are hatched. The males 
leave the females whenever incubation has commenced, and do 
not join them again until late in autumn ; indeed, they remove 


76 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


to different woods, when they are more shy and wary than dur¬ 
ing the love season or the winter. 

“ This species walks much in the manner of our Partridge. 
1 never saw one jerk its tail, as the Ruffed Grouse does ; nor do 
they burrow in the snow, like that bird, but usually resort to 
trees, to save themselves from their pursuers. They seldom 
move from thence at the barking of a dog; and, when roused, 
fly only to a short distance, uttering a few clucks , which they 
repeat on alighting. In general, when a flock is discovered, 
each individual forming it may be easily caught; for, so seldom 
do they see men in the secluded places they inhabit, that they 
do not seem to be aware of the hostile propensities of the race. 

u Along the shores of the Bay of Fundy, the Spruce Partridge 
is much more common than the Ruffed Grouse; which, indeed, 
gradually becomes scarcer the farther north we proceed, and is 
unknown in Labrador, where it is replaced by the Willow 
Grouse, and two other species. The females of the Canada 
Grouse differ materially in their coloring, in different latitudes. 
In Maine, for instance, they are more richly colored than in La¬ 
brador, where I observed that all the individuals procured by me 
were of a much grayer hue than those shot near Dennisville. 
The like difference is, perhaps, still more remarkable in the 
Ruffed Grouse, which are so very gray and uniformly colored 
in the Northern and Eastern States, as to induce almost every 
person to consider them as of a species distinct from those found 
in Kentucky, or any of the southern mountainous districts of the 
Union. I have in my possession skins of both species, procured 
a thousand miles apart, that present these remarkable differences 
in the general hue of their plumage. 

u All the species of this genus indicate the approach of rainy 
weather or a snow storm with far more precision than the best 
barometer; for, on the afternoon previous to the occurrence of 
such weather, they all resort to their roosting-places earlier, by 
several hours, than they do during a continuation of fine wea¬ 
ther. I have seen groups of Grouse flying up to their roosts at 
mid-day, or as soon as the weather felt heavy, and have observed 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


77 


that it generally rained in the course of that afternoon. When, 
on the contrary, the same flock would remain busily engaged in 
search of food, until sunset, I found the following morning fresh 
and clear. Indeed, I believe that this kind of foresight exists in 
the whole tribe of gallinaceous birds. 

u One day, while on the coast of Labrador, I accidentally al¬ 
most walked upon a female Canada Grouse, surrounded by her 
young brood. It was on the 18th of July. The affrighted mo¬ 
ther, on seeing us, ruffled up all her feathers, like a common hen, 
and advanced close to us, as if determined to defend her offspring. 
Her distressed condition claimed our forbearance, and we allow¬ 
ed her to remain in safety. The moment we retired, she smoothed 
down her plumage, and uttered a tender maternal cluck, when 
the little ones took to their wings, although they were, I can 
venture to assert, not more than one week old , with so much ease 
and delight} that I felt highly pleased at having allowed them to 
escape. 

“Two days afterward, my youthful and industrious party 
returned to the Ripley with a pair of these Grouse in moult. 
This species undergoes that severe trial at a much earlier season 
than the Willow Ptarmigan. My son reported that some young 
ones which he saw with their mother, were able to fly fully a 
hundred yards, and alighted on the low trees, among which he 
caught several of them, which, however, died before he reached 
the vessel. 

“ This species is found not only in the State of Maine, but 
also in the mountainous districts of New Hampshire, and the 
northern parts of New York, as well as around our Northern 
Great Lakes and the head-waters of the Missouri. It is abun¬ 
dant in the British Provinces of New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, 
Newfoundland and Labrador. 

“ Among the great number, procured at all seasons of the 
year, which I have examined, I never found one without the 
rufous band at the extremity of the tail; nor did I see any hav¬ 
ing the terminal white spot on the upper tail-coverts, exhibited 
in figures of this species. 


78 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


“ Their food consists of berries of different sorts, and the young 
twigs and blossoms of several species of plants. In the summer 
and autumn, I have often found them gorged with berries of the 
plant which is commonly called 4 Solomon’s seal.’ In the 
winter I have seen the crop filled with the short leaves of the 
larch or hackmetack. # 

“ I have frequently heard it said that these birds could be 
knocked down with sticks, or that a whole covey could be shot, 
while perched on trees, by beginning at the lowest one; but I 
never witnessed anything of the kind, and cannot therefore 
vouch for the truth of the assertion. During the autumn of 
1833, these birds were uncommonly plentiful in the State of 
Maine. My friend Edward Harris, of New York, Thomas 
Lincoln, and others, killed a great number ; and the latter gen¬ 
tleman procured a pair alive, which were fed on oats and did 
well. 

“ The flesh of this Grouse is dark, and fit for being eaten 
only when it has fed on berries. In winter, when it feeds on 
the leaves of trees and other plants, the flesh is quite bitter and 
disagreeable. 

“According to Dr. Richardson, all the thick and swampy 
black spruce forests between Canada and the Arctic ocean 
abound with this bird, and considerable numbers exist, in the 
severest seasons, as high as the 67th parallel. I am informed 
by Mr. Townsend that it is also plentiful on the Rocky Moun¬ 
tains and the plains of the Columbia, from which parts I have 
obtained specimens differing in nothing from others procured in 
Maine and Labrador. I have also compared those in the Edin¬ 
burgh Museum, which Mr. Douglass was pleased to name 
Franklin’s Grouse, with several of my own, and feel confident 
that they are all of one and the same species.” 

From this vivid and life-like description of this beautiful little 
Grouse, its habits, food, motions, and the districts which it 
inhabits, it will be evident to all that it cannot be denied a place 
among the Upland game of the United States and British Pro- 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


70 


vmces; while it is, I fear, scarcely less apparent that neither its 
numbers nor its manners will ever, in probability, allow it to be 
pursued successfully for the purposes of sport. 

In one respect only I must venture to differ from the great 
authority and venerable man, whom I have quoted above ; and 
this on a point only whereon the least scientific may be allowed 
to differ from the opinions of the wisest; since it is admitted 
everywhere that de gustibus non est disputandum. Mr. Audubon 
says that in winter the flesh is bitter and disagreeable. I have 
eaten it in winter, and then only, and while I must admit the 
almost resinous aromatic bitterness , I venture to pronounce it 
delicious in the extreme ; and I believe that all epicures in game 
will agree with me—all those, I mean, who prefer the back 
bone and thighs of the Ruffed Grouse of America, or the Moor- 
fowl of the British Isles, to the tamer white meat of the breast. 
European readers will understand the flavor I allude to, when 1 
state that it closely resembles that of the Capercaillie, as import¬ 
ed from Norway in the winter season. 

With this species I shall conclude my notice of the Grouse 
Tetraonidce of America, since the Willow Ptarmigan, Tetrao 
Saliceti , “ Red-necked Partridge ,” is so very rare that it really 
cannot be included under the head of Game, even that indefati¬ 
gable explorer, Mr. Audubon, having failed to discover it 
within the limits of the States, although he expresses his con¬ 
viction that “ it exists in the State of Maine, as well as in the 
Northern Districts bordering on the great lakes.” 

For the benefit of those who desire to be informed, and to 
learn the distinctions between Grouse, Pheasant, and Partridge, 
neither of the latter species existing in America, I will state sim¬ 
ply and briefly that all Grouse are feathered on the legs, below 
the termination of the thigh, some quite to the toe nails. The 
Ruffed Grouse is feathered below the knee—the Pinnated and 
Canada Grouse to the ancles—the Willow Grouse to the claws. 
Of many generic marks this is the most decided. No game¬ 
bird but the Grouse is feathered below the knee, and he always 
carries this distinctive sign after the spring migration. 
vol. i. 8 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


AMERICAN QUAIL. 

Ortyx Virginiana — Stephens. La Perdrix (PAmerique — Brissot. 

The Quail ,—“ The Partridge ” in Pennsylvania and South¬ 
ward !, improperly. 

“ Male 10.15. Female 9^.14. 

u Breeds abundantly from Texas to Massachusetts ; in the 
interior, high on the Missouri, and in all intermediate districts. 

“ Adult male. 

u Bill short, robust, rather obtuse, the base covered with 
feathers; upper mandible* with the dorsal outline curved, the 
sides convex, the edges overlapping, the tip declinate; under 
mandible nearly straight in its dorsal outline, arched on the 
edges, the sides convex, nostrils concealed among the feathers. 
Head and neck of ordinary size; body short and bulky. Feet 
of ordinary length ; tarsus anteriorly scutellate,| a little com¬ 
pressed, spurless. Toes scutellate above, pectinate^ on the 
sides ; claws arched, obtuse. 

“ Plumage compact, glossy Feathers of the upper part of 
the head erectile into a tuft. Wings short, broad, much 
curved, and rounded ; the fourth quill the longest. Tail short, 
rounded, of twelve rounded feathers. 

“ Bill dark brown. Iris hazel. Feet grayish blue. The 
forehead, a broad line over each eye, and the throat and fore¬ 
neck white. Lore, auricular§ coverts, and a broad semilunar 
band on the foreneck, more or less black. Upper part of the 
head, hind and lower part of the neck, all round, reddish brown. 
Upper back and wing coverts, bright brownish red; the lower 
part of the back, light red, tinged with yellow. Primaries 
dusky, externally margined with blue; secondaries irregularly 
barred with light red. Tail grayish blue, excepting the middle 

* Mandible —division of bill corresponding to the jaws. 

t Scutellate —covered with scales overlapping each other like tiles 

X Pectinate —toothed like a comb. 

§ Auricular —belonging to the ear. t 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


81 


feathers, which are dull grayish yellow, sprinkled with black 
Sides of the neck spotted with white. Under parts white, 
streaked with brownish-red, transversely and undulatingly barred 
with black. Sides and under tail coverts, reddish. 

u Length, 10 inches ; extent of wings, 15 ; bill along the 
back, i, along the gap, ; tarsus i; middle toe nearly the 
same. 

“ Young Male. 

“ Similar to the adult male in the general distribution of the 
colors, hut the white of the head and throat bright reddish- 
yellow ; the back of the fore-neck and sides of the head, deep 
brown ; the under parts less pure and more dusky ; and the tail 
of a duller gray. 

“ Adult Female. 

“ The female resembles the young male, but is more deci¬ 
dedly colored; the bill darker, the head of a more uniform and 
richer reddish-yellow ; the sides of the neck spotted with yel¬ 
low and black. 

u Young Female. 

“ The young females are somewhat smaller and lighter in 
their tints than the young males. 

u Very young Birds. 

w Bill brownish-yellow. Iris light hazel. The general color 
of the upper parts, light yellowish-brown, patched with gray j 
sides of the head dusky.”— Audubon's Birds of America. 

u This well known bird is a general inhabitant of North 
America, from the northern parts of Canada and Nova Scotia, 
in which latter place it is said to be migratory to the extremity 
of the peninsula of Florida, and was seen in the neighborhood 
of the Great Osage Village in the interior of Louisiana. They 
are numerous in Kentucky and Ohio. Mr. Pennant remarks 
that they have been lately introduced into the Island of Jamaica, 
where they appear to thrive greatly, breeding in that warm 
climate twice in the year. Capt. Henderson mentions them as 
being plenty near the Belize, at the Bay of Honduras. They 


82 


prank forester’s field sports. 


rarely frequent the forest, and are most numerous in the vicinity 
of well cultivated plantations, where grain is plenty. They, 
however, occasionally seek shelter in the woods, perching on 
the branches, or secreting themselves among the brushwood, 
but are found most usually in open fields, or along fences shel¬ 
tered by thickets of briars; when they are not too much perse¬ 
cuted by the sportsman they become almost half domesticated, 
approach the barn, particularly in winter, and sometimes in that 
severe season mix with the poultry to glean up a subsistence. 
They remain with us a whole year, and often suffer extremely 
by long, hard winters, and deep snows. At such times the arts 
of man combine with the inclemency of the season for their 
destruction. To the ravages of the gun are added others of a 
more insidious kind. Traps are placed on almost every planta¬ 
tion in such places as they are known to frequent. They are 
formed of lath or thinly split sticks, somewhat in the shape of 
an obtuse cone, laced together with cord, having a small hole 
at the top with a sliding lid to take out the game by. This is 
supported by the common figure 4 trigger, and grain is scattered 
below and leading to the place. By this contrivance ten or 
fifteen have sometimes been taken at a time. These are some¬ 
times brought alive to market, and occasionally bought up by 
sportsmen, who, if the season be very severe, sometimes pre¬ 
serve and feed them till Spring, when they are humanely turned 
out to their native fields again, to be put to death some future 
time secundum artem. Between the months of August and 
March great numbers of these birds are brought to the market 
of Philadelphia, where they are sold at from twelve to eighteen 
cents a piece. 

“ The Quail begins to build early in May. The nest is made 
on the ground, usually at the bottom of a thick tuft of grass that 
shelters and conceals it. The materials are leaves and fine dry 
grass, in considerable quantity. It is well covered above, and 
an opening left on one side for entrance. The female lays from 
fifteen to twenty-four eggs, of a pure white, without any spots. 
The time of incubation has been stated to me by various per- 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


83 


sons at four weeks, when the eggs were placed under the 
domestic Hen. The young leave the nest as soon as they are 
freed from the shell, and are conducted about in search of food 
by the female; are guided by her voice, which, at that time, 
resembles the twittering of young chickens, and sheltered by 
her wings in the same manner as the domestic fowl, but with 
all that secrecy and precaution for their safety which their 
helplessness and greater danger require. In this situation, 
should the little timid family be unexpectedly surprised, the 
utmost alarm and consternation prevails. The mother throws 
herself in the path, fluttering along and beating the ground with 
her wings, as if sorely wounded, using every artifice she is master 
of to entice the passenger in pursuit of herself, uttering at the 
same time certain peculiar notes of alarm, well understood by 
the young, who dive separately amongst the grass, and secrete 
themselves until the danger is over, and the parent, having 
decoyed the pursuer to a safe distance, returns by a circuitous 
route to collect and lead them off. This well known manoeuvre, 
which nine times in ten is successful, is honorable to the feel¬ 
ings and judgment of the bird, but a severe satire on man. 
The affectionate mother, as if sensible of the avaricious 
cruelty of his nature, tempts him with a larger prize to save 
her more helpless offspring, and pays him as avarice and cruelty 
ought always to be paid, with mortification and disappointment. 

u The eggs of the Quail have been frequently placed under 
the domestic Hen, and hatched and reared with equal success 
as her own, though generally speaking, the young Partridges, 
being more restless and vagrant, often lose themselves and 
disappear. The Hen ought to be a particular good nurse, not 
at all disposed to ramble, in which case they are very easily 
raised. Those that survive acquire all the familiarity of com¬ 
mon Chickens, and there is little doubt that if proper measures 
were taken and persevered in for a few years, they might be 
completely domesticated. They have been often kept during 
the first season and through the whole of that winter, but have 
uniformly deserted in the spring. Two young Partridges that 


84 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


were brought up by a Hen, when abandoned by her, associated 
with the cows, which they regularly followed to the fields, 
returned with them when they came home in the evening, 
stood by them while they were milked, and again accompanied 
them to the pasture. These remained during the winter, lodg¬ 
ing in the stable, but as soon as spring came they disappeared. 
Of this fact I was informed by a very respectable lady, by 
whom they were particularly observed. It has been frequently 
asserted to me that the Quails lay in each others nests. 
Though I have never myself seen a case of this kind, I do not 
think it altogether improbable, from the fact that they have 
often been known to drop their eggs in the nest of the common 
Hen, when that happened to be in the fields or at a small dis¬ 
tance from the house. The two Partridges above mentioned 
were raised in this manner, and it was particularly remarked by 
the lady who gave me the information, that the Hen sat for 
several days after her own eggs were hatched, until the young 
Quails made their appearance. The Partridge, on her part, 
has sometimes been employed to hatch the eggs of the common 
domestic Hen. A friend of mine, who himself made the experi¬ 
ment, informs me that of several Hen’s eggs which he substi¬ 
tuted in place of those of the Partridge, she brought out the 
whole, and that for several weeks he occasionally surprised her 
in various parts of the plantation, with her brood of Chickens, 
on which occasions she exhibited all that distressful alarm, and 
practised her usual manoeuvres for their preservation. Even 
after they were considerably grown, and larger than the Part¬ 
ridge herself, she continued to lead them about; but though the 
notes or call were those of common Chickens, their manners 
had all the shyness, timidity, and alarm of young Partridges, 
running with great rapidity, and squatting in the grass exactly 
in the manner of the Partridge. Soon after this they disap¬ 
peared, having probably been destroyed by dogs, by the gun, 
or by birds of prey. Whether the domestic fowl might not by 
this method be very soon brought back to its original savage state, 
and thereby supply another additional subject for the amusement 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


85 


of the sportsman, will scarcely admit of doubt; but the experi¬ 
ment, in order to secure its success, would require to be made in 
a quarter of the country less exposed than ours to the ravages 
of guns, dogs, traps, and the deep snows of winter, that 
the new tribe might have full time to become completely natu¬ 
ralized and well fixed in all their native habits. About the 
beginning of September, the Quail being now nearly full grown 
and associated in flocks or coveys of from four or five to thirty, 
afford considerable sport to the gunner. At this time the notes 
of the male are most frequent, clear, and loud. His common 
call consists of two notes, with sometimes an introductory one, 
and is similar to the sound produced by pronouncing the words 
Bob White. This call may be easily mistaken by whistling, so 
as to deceive the bird itself, and bring it near. While uttering 
this he is usually perched on a rail of the fence, or a low limb 
of an apple tree, where he will sometimes sit repeating, at 
short intervals, Bob White, for half an hour at a time. When 
a covey are assembled in a thicket, or corner of a field, and 
about to take wing, they make a low, twittering sound, not 
unlike that of young Chickens; and when the covey is dis¬ 
persed they are called together by a loud and frequently 
repeated note, peculiarly expressive of tenderness and anxiety. 
The food of the Partridge consists of grain, seeds, insects, and 
berries of various kinds. Buckwheat and Indian Corn are 
particular favorites. In September and October the Buckwheat 
fields afford them an abundant supply as well as a secure 
shelter. They usually roost at night in the middle of a field, 
on high ground, and from the circumstance of the dung being 
found in such places in one round heap, it is generally con¬ 
jectured that they roost in a circle with their heads outward; 
each individual in this position forming a kind of guard to pre¬ 
vent surprise. They also continue to lodge for several nights 
in the same spot. The Partridge, like all the rest of the galli¬ 
naceous order, flies with a loud, whirring sound, occasioned 
by the shortness, concavity, and rapid motion of its wings, and 
the comparative weight of its body. The steadiness of its 


86 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


horizontal flight, however, renders it no difficult mark to the 
sportsman, particularly when assisted by his sagacious pointer. 
The flesh of this bird is peculiarly white, tender and delicate, 
and unequalled by that of any other of its genus in the United 
States. There is only one species of Quail at present known 
within the United States.”— Wilson's Am. Ornithology. 

THE WOODCOCK. 

Scolopax Minor.—La Becasse d'Amerique — Brissot. The Mud- 

Snipe , Blind Snipe , Big-headed Snipe , Bog-Sucker. 

“Male, 11.16. Female, 11^.171 

“ Distributed throughout the country, extremely abundant in 
the Middle and Eastern Districts, as well as in the interior, 
where it breeds as far as Nova Scotia. Equally abundant in 
winter, in the Southern States, though many migrate Southward. 

“ Adult Male. 

“ Bill double the length of the head, straight, slender, taper¬ 
ing, sub-trigonal, and deeper than broad at the base, slightly 
depressed toward the end. Upper mandible, with the dorsal 
line straight; the ridge narrow, toward the end flattened; the 
sides nearly erect, sloping outward toward the soft, obtuse 
edges; the tip blunt, knob-like, and longer than that of the 
lower mandible. Nostrils basal, lateral, lineal, very small. 
Lower mandible broader than the upper ; the angle very long 
and narrow, the dorsal line straight, the back broadly rounded, 
the sides marked with a deep groove, sloping inward at the 
base, outward toward the end, the edges soft and obtuse, the 
tip rounded. 

“ Head rather large, oblong, narrowed anteriorly ; eyes large, 
and placed high. Neck short and thick. Body rather full. 
Feet rather short; tibia feathered to the joint; tarsus rather 
short, compressed, covered in front by numerous scutella; on 
the sides and behind with sub-hexagonal scales, and having a 
row of small scutelliform scales along the outer side behind. 
Toes free, slender, the first very small, the second slightly 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


87 


shorter than the fourth, the third much longer and exceeding 
the tarsus in length; all scutellate above, marginate, flattish, 
beneath. Claws very small, arched, acute, that of the hind 
toe extremely small, of middle toe with a thin inner edge. 

“ Plumage very soft, elastic, blended ; of the fore-part of the 
head very short; of the neck full. Wings short, rounded ; the 
fourth and fifth quills about equal and longest, the first three 
extraordinarily attenuated, being in fact sublinear, narrower be¬ 
yond the middle, the inner web slightly enlarged toward the 
end, the first as long as the seventh. Secondaries broad, the 
outer a little incurved and rounded, the inner tapering and 
elongated. Tail very short, wedge-shaped, of twelve narrow 
feathers, which taper toward the rounded point. 

“Bill light yellowish-brown, dusky toward the end. Iris 
brown. Feet flesh-colored ; claws brownish black. The fore¬ 
head is yellowish-gray, with a few dark mottlings in the centre. 
On the upper part of the head are two blackish-brown broad 
transverse bands, and on the occiput two narrower, separated 
by bands of light red ; a brownish-black loral band and a narrow 
irregular line of the same across the cheek, and continued to the 
occiput. The upper parts are variegated with brownish-black, 
light yellowish-red, and ash-gray. There are three broad, lon¬ 
gitudinal bands of the first color, barred with the second, down 
the back, separated by two of the last. The inner wing co¬ 
verts and secondary quills are similarly barred ; the outer, pale 
grayish-red, faintly barred with dusky. The quills are grayish- 
brown, tipped with dull gray, the secondaries spotted on the 
outer web with dull red. Upper tail coverts barred ; tail fea¬ 
thers brownish-black, their tips gray, their outer edges mottled 
with reddish. The sides of the neck are gray, tinged with red ; 
the lower parts in general, light red, tinged with gray on the 
breast, on the sides and lower wing coverts deeper; the lower 
tail coverts with a central dusky line, and the tip white. 

“Length to end of tail, 11 inches; to end of wings, 9| ; 
wing from flexure, 5}; tail, 2j \; bill along the ridge, 2j s ; along 


88 FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 

the edge of the lower mandible, 2|*; tarsus, ; middle toe, 
l r 5 2 , its claw, l ] weight, 6*oz. 

u Adult Female. 

“ The female, which is considerably larger, has the same co¬ 
lors as the male. 

“ Length to end of tail, ll-^ ; to end of wings, lOfV ; to end 
of claws, 13i^; wing, from flexure, 5fV; tail, 2j %; bill along 
the ridge, 2 ft; along the edge of lower mandible, 2ff; tarsus, 
li 2 ; middle toe, 1 1 %; its claw, i ; weight, 8foz. 

u Fledged young. 

u When fully fledged, similar to the old birds.”— Audubon’s 
Birds of America. 

u This bird is universally known to our sportsmen. It arrives 
in Pennsylvania early in March—sometimes sooner—and, I 
doubt not, in mild winters, some few remain with us the whole 
of that season. 

c< During the day they keep to the woods and thickets, and at 
the approach of evening seek the high and open country places 
to feed in. They soon disperse themselves over the country to 
breed. About the beginning of July, particularly in long-conti¬ 
nued hot weather, they descend to the marshy shores of our 
large rivers, their favorite springs and watery recesses inland 
being chiefly dried up. To the former of these retreats they 
are pursued by the merciless sportsman, flushed by dogs, and 
shot down in great numbers. This species of amusement, when 
eagerly followed, is still more laborious than Snipe-shooting; 
and, from the nature of the ground, or u cripple,” as it is usually 
called—viz., deep mud intersected with old logs, which are co¬ 
vered and hid from sight by high reeds, weeds, and alder 
bushes—the best dogs are soon tired out, and it is customary 
with sportsmen who regularly pursue this diversion, to have two 
sets of dogs to relieve each other alternately. 

a The Woodcock usually begins to lay in April. The nest is 
placed on the ground, in a retired part of the woods, frequently 
at the root of an old stump. It is formed of a few withered 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


89 


leaves and stalks of grass, laid with very little art. The female 
lays four, sometimes five eggs, about an inch and a half long, 
and an inch, or rather more, in diameter, tapering suddenly to 
the small end. These are of a dull clay color, marked with 
spots of brown, particularly at the great end, and interspersed 
with others of a very pale purple. The nest of the Woodcock 
has, in several instances that have come to my knowledge, been 
found with eggs in February, but its usual time of beginning to 
lay is in April. In July, August and September, they are con¬ 
sidered in good order for shooting. The Woodcock is properly 
a nocturnal bird, feeding chiefly at night, and seldom stirring 
about till after sunset. At such times, as well as in the early 
part of the morning, particularly in the spring, he rises by a kind 
of spiral course, to a considerable height in the air, uttering at 
times a sudden quack , till having gained his utmost height, he 
hovers around in a wild and irregular manner, making a sort of 
murmuring sound, then descends with rapidity, as he rose. When 
uttering his common note on the ground, he seems to do it with 
difficulty, throwing his head toward the earth, and frequently jet¬ 
ting up his tail. These notes and manoeuvres are most usual in 
the spring, and are the call of the male to his favorite female. 
Their food consists of various larvre and other aquatic worms, for 
which, during the evening, they are almost continually turning 
over the leaves with their bills, or searching in the bogs. Their 
flesh is reckoned delicious, and prized highly. They remain 
with us till late in the autumn, and, on the falling of the first 
snows, descend from the ranges of the Alleghany to the lower 
parts of the country, in great numbers—soon after which, viz., 
in November, they move off to the South. This bird, in its gene¬ 
ral figure and manners, very greatly resemble the Woodcock of 
Europe ; but is considerably less, and differently marked below, 
being an entirely distinct species. A few traits will clearly point 
out these differences. The lower parts of the European Wood¬ 
cock are thickly barred with dusky-waved lines on a yellowish- 
white ground. The present species has those parts of a bright 
ferruginous. The male, of the American species, weighs from 


90 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


five to six ounces, the female eight; the European twelve. The 
European Woodcock makes his first appearance in Britain in 
October and November, that country being, in fact, only its 
winter quarters ; for, early in March, they move off to the 
northern parts of the continent to breed. The American spe¬ 
cies, on the contrary, winters in countries south of the United 
States, arrives here early in March, extends its migration as &tr 
at least as the river St. Lawrence—breeds in all the intermediate 
places, and retires again to the South on the approach of winter. 
The one migrates from the torrid to the temperate regions—the 
other from the temperate to the Arctic. The two birds, there¬ 
fore, notwithstanding their names are the same, differ not only 
in size and markings, but also in native climate. Hence the ab¬ 
surdity of those who would persuade us that the Woodcock of 
America crosses the Atlantic to Europe, and vice versa. These 
observations have been thought necessary, from the respectability 
of some of our own writers, who seem to have adopted this opi¬ 
nion. How far to the North our Woodcock is found, I am un¬ 
able to say. It is not mentioned as a bird of Hudson’s Bay, and 
being altogether unknown in the Northern parts of Europe, it is 
very probable that its migrations do not extend to a very high 
latitude; for it may be laid down as a general rule, that those 
birds which migrate to the Arctic regions, in either continent, 
are very often common to both. The head of the Woodcock is 
of singular conformation—large, somewhat triangular, and the 
eye fixed at a remarkable distance from the bill, and high in the 
head. This construction was necessary to give a greater range 
of vision, and to secure the eye from injury while the owner is 
searching in the mire. The flight of the Woodcock is slow. 
When flushed at any time in the woods, he rises to the height 
of the bushes or underwood, and almost instantly drops behind 
them again at a short distance, generally running off for several 
yards as soon as he touches the ground. The notion that there 
are two species of Woodcock in this country, probably originated 
from the great difference of size between the male and female— 
the latter being considerably the larger. When taken, they ut* 





































































































. 


















• X 





J 

• 










- 

























































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































UPLAND SHOOTING. 


91 


tei a long, clear, but feeble peep, not louder than that of a 
mo\xse. They are far inferior to young partridges, in running 
and skulking, and, should the female be unfortunately killed, 
may be easily taken on the spot.”— Wilson’s Am. Ornithology. 

COMMON SNIPE. 

Scolopax Wilsonii .— The English Snipe. 

“Male 10J.17. 

“ Distributed throughout the country. Breeds from Vir¬ 
ginia northward. Exceedingly abundant in the Southern and 
Western districts during winter. 

“ Adult male. 

“ Bill twice as long as the head, subulate, straight, depressed 
toward the end, compressed for more than half its length. 
Upper mandible with the dorsal line straight; the ridge, for a 
short space at the base, flattish, then convex; towards the 
end flattened ; the sides with a narrow groove extending to 
near the tip, which is obtuse and probe-like ; the edges soft 
and obtuse. Nostrils basal, linear, very small. Lower man¬ 
dible with the angle extremely narrow and long, the sides 
nearly erect, with a groove having several bars across it; the 
end of both mandibles covered, after death, with numerous 
prominences, or rather with reticular depressions, leaving small 
prominences between them. 

“ Head rather small, oblong, narrowed anteriorly, the fore¬ 
head elevated and rounded. Neck rather short. Body rather 
full. Legs of moderate length, slender; tibia bare below, 
6cutellate before and behind; tarsus with numerous scutella 
before, smaller ones behind, and reticulated sides ; toes very 
slender, free, scutellate above, narrow and slightly margined 
beneath; first very small, third longer than the tarsus; fourth 
much shorter, but considerably longer than the second. Claws 
slightly arched, extremely compressed, very acute, that of the 
third toe longest. 

“ Plumage very soft, rather full, blended; on the forepart 


92 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


of the head very short. Wings of moderate length, narrow, 
sharp; primaries broad, tapering, but rounded, the first ex¬ 
tremely small and pointed, the second longest, the third very 
little shorter, the rest rapidly graduated; secondaries broad, 
short, incurved, rounded, the inner very long, tapering, as are 
the scapulars. Tail short, rounded, of sixteen rounded feathers. 

“Bill brown, the granulated part toward the tip black. 
Iris hazel. Feet bluish gray, claws dusky. On the upper 
part of the head two brownish-black longitudinal bands, sepa¬ 
rated by. a narrower central pale brown one, and with another 
pale brown band on each side from the bill over the eye. Then 
a loral band of dark brown; chin whitish; neck pale reddish- 
brown, spotted with brownish-black. The general color of 
upper parts is brownish-black, variegated with pale reddish- 
brown, of which latter color are the outer edges of the scapu¬ 
lars and of the lateral feathers on the anterior part of the back. 
Wing-coverts, and inner secondaries, similarly mottled; the 
small anterior coverts, the primary coverts, primary quills, and 
outer secondaries, deep brown more or less tipped with white; 
rump barred with yellowish-gray and dusky ; upper tail coverts 
similar, but the larger barred with brownish-red and black. 
Tail feathers brownish-black at the base, with a broad sub¬ 
terminal band of brownish-red on the outer web of the two 
middle, and on both webs of the rest, excepting the outer on 
each side, which is barred with brownish-black and white, the 
black bars five; the tips of all white. Anterior part of breast 
like the neck, the rest white ; abdomen and lower tail coverts 
grayish-yellow, barred with brownish-black ; lower wing co¬ 
verts similarly mottled. 

“ Length to end of tail, 10£ inches ; to end of claws, 11* • 
extent of wings, 17 ; wing, from flexure, 5 ; tail, 2\ ; bill along 
the back, 2 T \ ; along the edge of the lower mandible, 2& ; tar¬ 
sus, 1 t 2 2 ; middle toe, 1 1 ; its claw, 3 9 r ; weight 3oz. 

“ Adult female. 

“ The female resembles the male, but is rather larger.’* - 
Audubon's Birds of America. 


UPLAND SHOOTING 


93 


“ This bird is well known to our sportsmen, and if not the 
same, has a very near resemblance to the common Snipe of 
Europe. It is usually known by the name of the English 
Snipe, to distinguish it from the Woodcock, and from several 
others of the same genus. 

“ It arrives in Pennsylvania about the 10th of March, and 
remains in the low grounds for several weeks, the greater part 
then move off to the north and to the higher inland districts, to 
breed. A few are occasionally found and consequently breed 
in our low marshes during the summer. When they first 
arrive they are usually lean, but when in good order are 
accounted excellent eating. They are perhaps the most diffi¬ 
cult to shoot of all our birds, as they fly in sudden zigzag lines, 
and very rapidly. Great numbers of these birds winter on the 
rice grounds of the Southern States, where, in the month of 
February, they appeared to be much tamer than they usually are 
here, as I have frequently observed them running about among 
the springs and watery thickets. I was told by the inhabitants 
that they generally disappeared in the spring. On the 20th 
of March I found these birds extremely numerous on the bor¬ 
ders of the ponds near Louisville, Ky., and also in the neigh¬ 
borhood of Lexington, in the same State, as late as the 10th 
of April. I was told by several people that they are abundant 
in the Illinois country up as far as Lake Michigan. They are 
but seldom seen in Pennsylvania during the summer, but are 
occasionally met with in considerable numbers, on their return 
in autumn, along the whole east side of the Alleghany, from 
the sea to the mountains. They have the same soaring, 
irregular flight in the air, in gloomy weather, as the Snipe of 
Europe; the same bleating note, and occasional rapid descent, 
spring from the marshes with the like feeble squeak, and in 
every respect resemble the common Snipe of Great Britain, 
except in being about an inch less, and in having sixteen fea¬ 
thers in the tail instead of fourteen, the number said by Bewick 
to be in that of Europe. From these circumstances we must 
either conclude this to be a different species, or partially 


94 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


changed by difference of climate; the former appears to me the 
most probable opinion of the two. 

“ These birds abound in the meadows and low grounds along 
our large rivers, particularly those that border the Schuylkill and 
Delaware, from the 10th of March to the middle of April, and 
sometimes later, and are eagerly sought after by our gunners 
The nature of the grounds, however, which these birds fre¬ 
quent, the coldness of the season, and peculiar shyness and 
agility of the game, renders this amusement attractive only to 
the most dexterous, active, and eager of our sportsmen.”— 
Wilson’s Am. Ornithology. 

The last of what may be called the purely Upland game 
birds of North America, is that commonly known as the Up¬ 
land Plover, also called the Frost Bird and Grass Plover, from 
the places which it frequents, and the periods at which it is 
found in perfection. It is, in my opinion, with no exception, 
unless perhaps it be the Canvass Back Duck, the most delicious 
bird that flies. Though generally known as a Plover , it does 
not belong to that species, but to that of Totanus , Tatler, a sort of 
connecting link between the Snipes and Sandpipers—the Plover 
proper having no hind toe. This is the only one of the three 
families above named that is, in the United States, a land bird, 
its habits being those of the European Golden Plover, the 
American namesake of which is essentially a shore bird. The 
Upland Sandpiper, or Tatler, is thus described by Mr. Audubon : 

BARTRAM’S TATLER. 

Totanus Bartramius — Upland Plover , Upland Sandpiper , Frost 
bird , Grass Plover . 

t( Male, 12j.22. Female, 13.22£. 

u From Texas along the coast to Nova Scotia. Breeds from 
Maryland northward to the Saskatchewan. In vast flocks in 
Louisiana, Oppelousas, and the Western Prairies, in autumn and 
spring. Rare in Kentucky. 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


95 


C£ Adult Male. 

“ Bill a little longer than the head, slender, straight, slightly- 
deflected at the end. Uppei mandible with the dorsal line 
straight, the edges convex, the sides grooved beyond the middle, 
afterward convex, the edges inflected, the tips a little deflected, 
and tapering to an obtuse point. Nostrils sub-basal, lateral, 
linear, pervious, nearer the edge than the dorsal line. Lower 
mandible with the angle very narrow and elongated, beyond it 
the outline slightly convex, the sides sloping outward and con¬ 
cave until the middle, afterward flattened, the edges sharp, the 
point very narrow. 

u Head rather small, convex above, compressed. Neck of 
moderate length, slender. Body rather slender. Feet long and 
slender, tibia bare about half its length, scutellate before and 
behind ; tarsus long, slender, having before and behind numerous 
scutella ; the narrow lateral spaces with very small, oblong 
scales. Toes slender; the first very short, the second much 
shorter than the fourth, the third and fourth connected at the 
base by a web ; the scutella numerous ; claws small, compressed, 
slightly arched, rather blunt. 

u Plumage soft; on the neck and lower parts blended ; on the 
upper rather distinct. Wings rather long, acute, narrow. Pri¬ 
maries tapering and rounded ; the first longest, the second a little 
shorter, the rest rapidly graduated; secondaries obliquely round¬ 
ed, the inner elongated and tapering. Tail of moderate length, 
much rounded, of twelve rather narrow feathers. 

“ Bill yellowish-green, tip dusky, the edges toward the base 
yellow. Iris dark hazel. Legs and tarsi light yellowish-gray, 
toes rather darker, claws brownish-black. Upper part of the 
head dark brown, with a median pale yellowish brown line ; 
the margins of the feathers also of that color which prevails 
along the sides of the head and the back of the neck, which are 
streaked with dusky ; the eye surrounded wdth yellowish-white. 
Throat yellowish-white, without spots ; forepart and sides of the 
neck, with a portion of the breast and sides of the body, cream- 
colored, with dusky lines, which gradually become arrow-shaped 

VOL. I. q 


96 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


on the breast, forming a double transverse band; the feathers 
on the side barred ; the rest of the lower parts and lower wing 
coverts white, banded with brownish-black. On the upper 
parts the feathers are dark brown, glossed with green, with rich 
cream-colored margins ; the rump darker. On the margins of 
the scapulars, within the pale edge, is a series of dusky spots 
which, toward the end, become continuous. Alula, primary 
coverts, and primary quills blackish-brown, the inner webs 
crossed by white bands, until about an inch from the end ; the 
shaft of the first quill white, those of the rest dusky. Secon¬ 
daries grayish-brown, their outer margins pale brown with dusky 
spots; the inner darker. The two middle feathers of the tail 
are dark olive, tinged with gray, transversely barred with black, 
the last bar arrow-shaped, the margins light cream-color, the 
next feather on each side lighter, and tinged with yellowish- 
red ; the rest gradually lighter, the outer white, all barred with 
black. 

“ Length to the end of tail, 12^ inches ; to the end of wings, 
111; to the end of the claws, 13|; extent of wings, 22 ; wing 
from flexure, 7; tail, 3f ; base part of tibia, rn ; tarsus, 1& ; 
first toe, T 2 ; claw, 2 * ; bill along the ridge, 1^ ; along the edge 
of lower mandible, Iff ; weight, 6oz. 

u Female. 

“ The female is a little larger, and weighs 7oz., but resem¬ 
bles the male in color. The individual of which the weight is 
here given, was very fat; but 1 have never met with any that 
weighed three-fourths of a pound, as described by Wilson. 

“ The Bartramian Sandpiper is the most truly terrestrial of 
its tribe with which I am acquainted. It is even more inclined 
at all seasons to keep away from water than the Kildeer Plo¬ 
ver, which may often be seen along the sandy or muddy mar¬ 
gin of the shores of the sea, or of fresh-water lakes and streams. 
Although not unfrequently met with in the vicinity of such 
places, it never ventures to wade into them; and yet the form 
and length of its legs and feet, would naturally induce a person 
not acquainted with its habits, to consider it as a wading-bird 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


97 


“ The dry, upland plains of those sections of Louisiana, call¬ 
ed Oppelousas and Attakapas, are amply peopled with this spe¬ 
cies early in spring, as well as in autumn. They arrive there 
from the vast prairies of Texas and Mexico, where they spend 
the winter, in the beginning of March or about the first appear¬ 
ance of the Martins —Hirundo Purpurea —and return about the 
first of August. They are equally abundant on all the Western 
Prairies on either side of the Missouri, where, however, they 
arrive about a month later than in Louisiana, whence they dis¬ 
perse over the United States, reaching the Middle Districts early 
in May, and the State of Maine by the middle of that month, or 
about the same period at which they are seen in Indiana, Ken¬ 
tucky and Ohio. Some proceed as far north as the plains ad¬ 
joining the Saskatchewan River, where Dr. Richardson met with 
this species in May. 

u It has been supposed that the Bartramian Sandpiper never 
forms large flocks ; but this is not correct—for in the neighbor¬ 
hood of New Orleans, where it is called the c Papabote,’ it 
usually arrives, in great bands, in spring, and is met with on the 
open plains and large grassy savannahs, where it generally re¬ 
mains about two weeks,—though sometimes individuals may be 
seen as late as the 15th of May. * I have observed the same cir¬ 
cumstance on our Western Prairies, but have thought that they 
were afterward obliged to separate into small flocks, or even 
into pairs, as soon as they are ready to seek proper places for 
breeding in ; for I have seldom found more than two pairs with 
nests or young in the same field or piece of ground. On their 
first arrival, they are generally thin, but on their return south¬ 
ward, in the beginning of August, when they tarry in Louisiana 
until the first of October, they are fat and juicy. I have observed 
that, in spring, when they are poor, they are usually much less 
shy than in autumn, when they are exceedingly wary and diffi¬ 
cult of approach; but this general observation is not without 
exceptions, and the difference, I think, depends on the nature of 
the localities in which they happen to be found at either period 
When on newly-ploughed fields, which they are fond of fre 


9S 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS 


quenting, they see a person at a greater distance than when they 
are searching for food among the slender grasses of the plains. 
I have also thought that the size of the flocks may depend upon 
similar contingencies ; for this bird is by no means fond of the 
society of man. 

u Like the Spotted Sandpiper —Totanus Macularius —they not 
unfrequently alight on fences, trees and out-houses; but, whe¬ 
ther in such situations or on the ground, they seldom settle 
without raising both wings upright to their full extent, and ut¬ 
tering their loud, prolonged and pleasing notes They run with 
great activity, stop suddenly, and vibrate their body once or 
twice. 

u When earnestly followed by the sportsman, they lower their 
neads in the manner of Wilson’s Plover, and the species called 
the Piping, and run off rapidly, or squat, according to the urg¬ 
ency of the occasion. At other times, they partially extend 
their wings, run a few steps as if about to fly, and then cun¬ 
ningly move off sideways, and conceal themselves among the 
grass, or behind a clod. You are unfrequently rendered aware 
of your being near them by unexpectedly hearing their plain¬ 
tive and mellow notes, a circumstance, however, which I 
always concluded to be indicative of the wariness of their dis¬ 
position ; for, although you have just heard those well-known 
cries, yet, on searching for thedrird itself, you nowhere see it— 
for the cunning creature has slipped away and hid itself. 
When wounded in the wing, they run to a great distance, and 
are rarely found. 

“ Like all experienced travellers, they appear to accommo¬ 
date themselves to circumstances, as regards their food—for in 
Louisiana they feed on cantharides and other coleopterous insects; 
n Massachusetts on grasshoppers, on which my friend Nut- 
tall says they soon grow fat; in the Carolinas on crickets 
and other insects, as well as the seeds of the crab-grass— Digi- 
taria Sanguinaria —and in the Barrens of Kentucky they often 
pick the strawberries. Those which feed much on cantharides 
require tc be very carefully cleaned, otherwise persons eating 


UFLAND SHOOTING. 


99 


them are liable to suffer severely. Several gentlemen of New 
Orleans have assured me that they have seen persons at dinner 
obliged to leave the room at once, under such circumstances as 
cannot well be described here. When flavored with the ripe 
strawberries on which they have fed, their flesh is truly deli¬ 
cious. 

“ This species performs its migrations by night as well as by 
day. Its flight is rather swift, and well sustained. While tra¬ 
velling, it generally flies so high as to be beyond the reach of 
the gun; but, if the weather be cloudy, or if it blow hard, it 
flies lower, and may be easily shot. It generally proceeds in 
straggling bands, and moves along with continuous easy beats 
of its wings, but sails as it were, when about to alight, as well 
as during the love season. 

u As long ago as 1805 and 1806, I observed this species 
breeding in the meadows and green fields of my plantation of 
Millgrover, near the banks of the Perkioming Creek. Since 
then, I have known of its rearing broods in different parts of 
Pennsylvania, in the State of New York, and in various dis¬ 
tricts to the Eastward, as far as the confines of Maine ; but I did 
not find it in Newfoundland or Labrador ; and I have reason to 
believe that it does not breed to the south of Maryland. 

“ I have found the eggs of this bird laid on the bare earth, in 
a hollow, scooped out to the depth of about an inch and a half, 
near the roots of a tuft of rank grass, in the middle of a mea¬ 
dow ; and have seen some nests of the same species formed of 
loosely-arranged grasses, and placed almost beneath low bushes, 
growing on poor, elevated ridges, furnished with a scanty vege 
tation. When disturbed while on its nest, but unobserved, it 
runs thirty or forty yards, and then flies off, as if severely 
wounded. Should it have young, its attempts to decoy you 
away are quite enough to induce you to desist from distressing 
it. The eggs measure an inch and five and a-half eighths by an 
inch and a quarter in their greatest breadth. In form they re¬ 
semble those of the Totanus Macularius , being broadly rounded 
at one end and rather pointed at the other ; their surface smooth, 


100 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


their ground color dull grayish-yellow, with numerous spots of 
light purple and reddish-brown. They are placed in the nest in 
the same manner as those of the Spotted Sandpiper; that is, 
with the smaller ends together; which is also the case with those 
of the Telltale Godwit, Wilson’s Plover, and the Kildeer Plo¬ 
ver.”— Audubon 1 s Birds of America. 

From these seven species, constituting the Upland Game 
Birds, proper, of the United States—for reasons which have 
been stated above, I prefer to consider the Wild Turkey under 
the head of Western Sporting—I come to the two varieties of 
Hare—Pseudo Rabbit, and White Rabbit; the true genera and 
distinctive marks of which are subjoined. 

THE AMERICAN HARE. 

Lepus Americanus. Lepus Virginianus. 

I have already mentioned, that there is no variety of Rabbit 
found on this continent; although, from the smaller size, the 
lighter and grayer color of its fur, and its general resemblance 
to the wild Rabbit of Europe, the smaller species— Lepus Ame¬ 
ricanus —which is found in almost every part of the United 
States and Canada, is invariably termed, and very generally be¬ 
lieved to be a Rabbit. 

This misnomer is not, like the calling Grouse u Pheasant, and 
Partridge,” a mere error in nomenclature, used by persons who 
are well aware of the distinction, and sometimes adopt the 
false instead of the true name, as it were compulsorily, and in 
order to make themselves understood by the ignorant—as I have 
found myself obliged to term Woodcock Blind Snipe, in conver¬ 
sation with country people—but is an absolute mistake, which 
is held by many sportsmen, who will not be convinced of the 
contrary. 

Sportsmen are, indeed, but too apt to undervalue, and even 
ridicule, the minute distinctions of the naturalist; not understand¬ 
ing how so small differences as are in some questions alone de- 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


101 


cisive of species and genera, can be of the weight ascribed to 
them ; and will persist, even after they are informed to the con¬ 
trary, in supporting their own opinion against the definitions of 
science ; which is, in fact, not one whit less ridiculous than it 
were for any one to dispute with the philosopher the earth’s 
roundness, or the sun’s volume, because his eyes cannot discern 
all that is taught by science. 

The European Hare, it is well known, is more than double 
the size and weight of the American variety; weighing, when 
full grown, from six to eight pounds ; and measuring two feet in 
length—while the American congener is not above eighteen 
inches long, at the utmost, and does not weigh above two 
pounds. It is natural enough, therefore, that the European 
sportsman should be inclined to doubt the fact, associating his 
ideas of the animal with the large kind which he has hunted or 
shot at home, when he is told that the little grayish creature, 
w T hich so very closely resembles the Rabbit of his country in 
size, is not a Rabbit but a Hare. 

In many points, moreover, connected with his haunts, habits 
and history, the small Hare of America resembles the Rabbit of 
the eastern continent; although in others more marked, and, in- 
indeed, positively decisive of his species, the two animals differ 
entirely. 

The points of similarity lie in this, that the smaller American 
Hare, like the Rabbit of Europe, loves craggy and inaccessible 
wooded hill-sides ; and, when hard pressed by dogs, will betake 
itself to holes and clefts in the rock; and that he has the same 
skulking habit, and much the same motion. 

The great difference is, that he never dwells in vast congrega¬ 
tions, or warrens, and never burrows in the earth for his habi¬ 
tual dwelling-place. This point, with some others, of structure 
and breeding, is decisive against his being a Rabbit. 

u The American Hare —Lepus Americanus —vulg. The Rabbit. 

u Length, from nose to tip of hind claws, 16 inches; length 


102 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


of hind legs, 10^; of head, 3,%; of ears, 3/ 2 ; of tail, 2^, 
weight, 3 to 4lbs. 

(i Ears shorter than the head. Forehead convex. Claws 
sharp-pointed, and nearly straight. Upper anterior incisors 
white, with a deep, longitudinal groover near their inner mar¬ 
gin ; the small incisors behind short, oppressed to the anterior 
incisors, and inserted into the upper maxillary. First molar 
above simple, recurved ; the four succeeding larger, and of 
nearly equal size, composed of double folds of enamel; the last 
simple, cylindrical, directed forward, and scarcely attaining the 
length of its predecessors. Beneath, the incisors are smooth, in 
front long and subquadrate. The first molar inclined backward, 
grooved before, and with a double groove on the outer surface; 
the succeeding ones to the last upright, nearly equal, with a sin¬ 
gle groove and two prominent ridges on their external surfaces ; 
the last smallest, inclined forward, with a slight groove on the 
external surface, and the tip exhibits a double case of enamel. 

“ Color .—In summer the general color is yellowish-brown, 
which becomes more or less rufous on the outer surface of the 
extremities and on the breast. Margin of the eyes blackish- 
brown, and outside of this a circle of yellowish-white. Throat 
and under side of the tail white. Abdomen grayish-white. 
Ears edged with white and tipped with brown. Fur plumbeous, 
lead-colored at the base, and for much of its length. In winter 
the fur becomes longer, and the upper surface of the head and 
body lighter, occasionally iron-gray; but I have never seen it as 
white as is stated by Godman. There may, however, be white 
varieties; but it cannot be said to have two distinct coats of fur. 

“ The most remarkable distinctions of this species, by which 
it is discernible alike from the Rabbit and the common Hare of 
America, are as follows :—1st. His size, which is much inferior 
to that of the common or variable Hare, and little superior to that 
of the common wild Rabbit of Europe ; whence he is frequently 
confounded with the Rabbit. 2d. The proportion of his legs ; 
the hind legs being longer, the fore legs shorter than those of 
the larger Hares. 3d. The color and length of the ears, which 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


103 


have a black margin at the outside, and no black mark at the 
tip, and are also shorter than those of the common Hare. 4th. 
The upper side of the tail is less black. 5th. The body is 
grayer than that of the other species of Hare. 6th. Its habits, 
which are purely those of a Hare, as distinct from those of the 
Rabbit. 

u Unlike its congener, the Northern or Varying Hare, it does 
not confine itself to the woods, but is frequently found in open 
fields, or where there is a slight copse or underbrush. It never 
burrows, like its closely-allied species, the European Rabbit, but 
makes its form, which is a slight depression in the ground, shel¬ 
tered by some low shrub. It frequently resorts to a stone wall, 
a heap of stones, or a hollow tree, and sometimes to the burrow 
of some other animal. Its food consists of bark, buds, grass, 
wild berries, &c. Its habits are nocturnal. It breeds three 
times in the season, producing from four to six at a birth. It 
has not a wide geographical range, being found from New 
Hampshire to Florida. Its western limits are not yet ascer¬ 
tained.”— Dekay’s Nat. Hist, of N. York , &c. 

In addition to this, I think it well to observe, that this is a 
solitary animal, not gregarious and congregating in large com¬ 
panies, and not breeding monthly , like the European Rabbit; 
and that, so far as my own observation goes, it does not change 
its color in winter. Dr. Dekay evidently leans to this latter 
opinion, in spite of other authorities, who have evidently con¬ 
founded this with the following species : 

THE NORTHERN HARE. 

Varying Hare—Lepus Virginianus .— Vulgo , White Rabbit. 

Cl Length of head and body, 20-25 inches ; of the hind legs, 
11^% ; of fore legs, 6^; of the head, 3/^; of the ears, 3fz ; of 
the tail, lyf; weight, 6flbs. 

u Head short; nose blunt; eyes large and prominent; ears 
broad and approximated ; upper anterior incisors long and slen- 


104 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


der, moderately grooved; the small posterior incisors not as 
large as in the preceding species ; lower incisors wedge-shaped, 
nearly straight. Molars more compressed and broader than in 
the preceding species. Skull depressed between the orbits. 
Body covered with loose, shaggy hair. Feet thickly covered 
with hair above and beneath, concealing the long, thin, and 
slightly curved claws. Whiskers long and numerous, black, 
or black and white ; a tuft of three or four over the eyes, and 
some beneath the chin. 

“ Independently of the change by season of this Hare, it may 
be said that at no time, unless in high northern latitudes, can two 
individuals be found marked precisely alike. At all seasons 
the base of the fur is lead colored above, and white beneath. 

u Winter Dress. —White, or nearly so, with irregular spots 
and dashes of a bright fawn color, which is more apparent on 
the ears, forelegs and rump ; ears margined with blackish-brown 
above, being deeper toward the tips; tail, and all beneath, 
white. 

u Summer Dress. —Above, bright fawn or reddish-brown; 
forehead, cheeks and ears of the same color; all beneath, 
white ; edges of the ears white, bordered with darker, particu¬ 
larly toward the tip. At all seasons the hair on the soles is 
dirty white. Margin of the eyelids, dark brown ; pupil dark 
brown. Iris yellowish. 

“ It is a distinct variety, differing in many respects from the 
common Hare, Lepus Timidus , the Varying Hare, Lepus Varia- 
bilisj and the Alpine Hare, Lepus Glacialis , of Europe. 

“ It is found from Canada as far north as Hudson’s Bay, 
southerly to the northern parts of Pennsylvania, perhaps even 
of Virginia; but in the Middle States is only found in moun¬ 
tainous and roughly wooded districts. 

“ Its period of gestation is about six weeks ; it bears from 
four to six young at a litter. 

“ The flesh of this and the preceding species is insipid, dry, 
and savorless, depending entirely on the condiments and cooking 
for its moderate goodness.”— Dekay's Nat. Hist. 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


105 


With these seven birds and two quadrupeds I might properly 
enough close my enumeration of our Upland game. There are, 
however, six species of Duck, which I have named above— The 
Dusky, vulgo Black Duck; The Mallard; The Blue-winged 
and The Green-winged Teal ; The Summer, or Wood Duck ; 
and The Pintail Duck; all of which, although water fowl, 
may be regarded with great fitness as Upland game, since they 
all frequent fresh lakes, marshes, and streams—are frequently 
killed in swamps far inland, and many hundreds of miles above 
tide water, and with but one exception, are rarely met with or 
taken, in very great abundance, oh the sea-shores, or even on 
salt marshes. 

The Dusky Duck is indeed a frequenter of the bays and of 
Long Island Sound ; I have, however, shot him so often, even 
over dead points from setters, on inland meadows—his flesh is 
so far superior when so taken, and above all, he so evidently 
prefers fresh feeding grounds, so long as the weather will per¬ 
mit—that I must regard him rather as Upland than Shore game. 
The American Widgeon, and The Shoveller, are so rare, 
except on the great western waters, which are indeed frequented 
by almost every variety of fowl, excepting only a few of the 
purely Sea Ducks, that it is needless to do more than name 
them. The varieties of the Merganser, generally known as 
Sheldrake , though sufficiently abundant, I can scarce bring 
myself to regard as game, their flesh being so rank and fishy as 
to be scarcely eatable. The six varieties above named, as being 
the most delicious, and in plumage the most beautiful of the 
whole duck tribe, must not be passed over so lightly. 

The first of these which I shall mention as being worthy 
of remark as the parent stock of our domestic Duck and Drake, 
second in succulence and flavor to none but the Canvass Back 
and Red-head, and superior to all except the Wood Duck in 
beauty, is the Mallard. 


106 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


THE MALLARD. 

Anas Boschas — le Canard Sauvage. — Brissot. The Greenhead. 

“ Male 24.36. Female 22. 

“ Breeds from Texas sparingly throughout the United States, 
Columbia River, and Fur Countries. Abundant during the 
winter in all the Southern Districts ; not found in Maine, or 
Eastward. 

Adult male. 

u Bill about the length of the head, higher than broad at the 
base, depressed and widened toward the end, rounded at the 
tip. Upper mandible with the dorsal outline sloping, and a 
little concave; the ridge at the base broad and flat, toward the 
end broadly convex, as are the sides, the edges soft and rather 
obtuse; the marginal lamellte transverse, fifty on each; the 
unguis oval, curved, abrupt at the end. Nasal groove elliptical, 
sub-basal, filled by the soft membrane of the bill; nostrils sub- 
basal, placed near the ridge, longitudinal, elliptical, pervious. 
Lower mandible slightly curved upward, with the angle very 
long, narrow, and rather pointed, the lamellae about sixty. 

“ Head of moderate size, oblong, compressed; neck rather 
long and slender, body full, depressed. Feet short, stout, 
placed a little behind the centre of the body. Legs bare a little 
above the joint; tarsus short, a little compressed, anteriorly 
with scutella, laterally and behind with small reticulated scales. 
Hind toe extremely small, with a very narrow membrane; 
third toe longest; fourth a little shorter, but longer than the 
second ; all the toes connected by reticulated membranes, the 
outer with a thick margin, the inner with the margin extended 
into a slightly lobed web. Claws small, arched, compressed, 
rather acute ; that of the middle toe much larger., with a dilated, 
thin inner edge. 

u Plumage, dense, soft, elastic ; of the head and neck, short, 
blended, and splendent. Of the other parts in general, broad 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


107 


and rounded. Wings of moderate length, acute; primaries 
narrow and tapering ; the second longest, the first very little 
shorter ; secondaries broad, curved inward, the inner elongated 
and tapering. Tail short, much rounded, of sixteen acute fea¬ 
thers, of which the four central are recurved. 

u Bill greenish-yellow. Iris dark brown. Feet orange-red. 
Head and upper part of neck deep green, a ring of white about 
the middle of the neck; lower part anteriorly, and fore part of 
breast dark brownish-chestnut; fore part of back light yellowish- 
brown, tinged with gray ; the rest of the back brownish-black; 
the rump black, splendent with green and purplish-blue reflec¬ 
tions, as are the recurved tail feathers. Upper surface of wings 
grayish-brown; the scapulars lighter, except their inner webs, 
and with the anterior dorsal feathers minutely undulated with 
brown. The speculum, or beauty spot, on about ten of the 
secondaries, is of brilliant changing purple and green, edged 
with velvet-black and white, the anterior bands of black and 
white being on the secondary coverts. Breast, sides, and 
abdomen, very pale gray, minutely undulated with darker; 
lower tail coverts black, with blue reflections. 

u Length to the end of tail, 24 inches ; to the end of the claws, 
23; to the tips of the wings, 22 ; extent of wings, 36 ; wing 
from flexure, 10£; tail, 4f; bill, tarsus, If; middle toe, 
2 T 3 2; its claw yy; weight, from 2\ to 3lbs. 

u Adult female. 

u Bill black in the middle, dull orange at the extremities and 
along the edges. Iris as in the male, as are the feet. The 
general color of the upper parts is pale yellowish-brown, 
streaked and spotted with dusky brown. The feathers of the 
head are narrowly streaked, of the back with the margin and a 
central streak yellowish-brown, the rest of the scapulars similar, 
but with the light streak on the outer web. The wings are 
nearly as in the male ; the speculum similar, but with less 
green. The lower parts dull olive, deeper on the lower neck, 
and spotted with brown. 

“ Length, 22 inches ; weight, from 2lbs. to 2f. 


108 


FRANK FORESTER'S FIELD SPORTS. 


u The young acquire the full plumage in the course of the 
first winter.’’— Audubon’s Birds of America. 

“ The common Wild Duck is found in every fresh water 
lake and river of the United States, in winter, spring, or au¬ 
tumn, but seldom frequents the sea shore or salt marshes. Their 
summer residence is the North, the great nursery of this nume¬ 
rous genus. Instances have been known of some solitary pairs 
breeding here in autumn ; in England these instances are more 
common. The nest is usually placed in the most solitary 
recesses of the marsh or bog, amidst coarse grass, reeds, and 
rushes; and generally contains from twelve to sixteen eggs, of 
a dull greenish-white. The young are led about by the mother 
in the same manner as those of the tame Duck, but with a 
superior caution, cunning, and watchful vigilance, peculiar to 
her situation. 

“ The male attaches himself to one female, as among other 
birds in their native state, and is the guardian and protector 
of her and her feeble brood. The Mallard is numerous in the 
rice fields of the Southern States during winter; many of the 
fields being covered with a few inches of water, and the 
soattered grains of the former harvest lying in abundance, the 
Ducks swim about and feed at pleasure. The flesh of the common 
Wild Duck is in general and high estimation, and the ingenuity 
of man, in every country where it frequents, has been employed 
in inventing stratagems to overreach these wary birds, and pro¬ 
cure a delicacy for the table. To enumerate all these various 
contrivances would far exceed our limits; a few, however, of 
the most simple and effective may be mentioned. In some 
ponds frequented by these birds, five or six wooden figures 
are painted so as to represent ducks, and sunk by pieces of lead 
nailed on the bottoms, so as to float at the usual depth on the 
surface, are anchored in a favorable position for being raked 
from a concealment of brush, etc., on shore. The appearance 
of these usually attracts passing flocks, which alight, and are 
shot down. Sometimes eight or ten of these painted wooden 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


109 


ducks are fixed on a frame, in various swimming postures, and 
secured to the bow of the gunner’s skiff, projecting before it in 
such a manner that the weight of the frame sinks the figures to 
the proper depth ; the skiff is then dressed with sedge or coarse 
grass, in an artful manner, as low as the water’s edge, and under 
cover of this, which appears like a party of Ducks swimming 
by a small island, the gunner floats down, sometimes to the very 
skirts of a whole congregated multitude, and pours in a destruc¬ 
tive and repeated fire of shot among them. 

u In winter, when detached pieces of ice are occasionally 
floating in the river, some of the gunners on the Delaware paint 
their whole skiff, or canoe, white; and laying themselves flat 
at the bottom, with the hand on the side, silently managing a 
small paddle, direct it imperceptibly into or near a flock, before 
the Ducks have distinguished it from a floating mass of ice, and 
generally do great execution among them. A whole flock has 
sometimes been thus surprised asleep, with their heads under 
their wings. 

u On land, another stratagem is sometimes practised with great 
success. A large, tight hogshead is sunk in the flat marsh or 
mud, near the place where Ducks are accustomed to feed at 
low water, and where, otherwise, there is no shelter; the edges 
and top are carefully concealed with tufts of long, coarse grass, 
and reeds or sedges. From within this, the gunner, unseen 
and unsuspected, watches his collecting prey; and when a suf¬ 
ficient number offers, sweeps them down with great effect. 

“ The mode of catching Wild Ducks, as practised in India 
and China, the island of Ceylon, and some parts of South Ameri¬ 
ca, has been often described, and seems, if reliance may be 
placed on those accounts, only practicable in water of a certain 
depth. The sportsman, covering his head with a hollow wooden 
vessel or calabash, pierced with holes to see through, wades 
into the water, keeping his head only above, and thus dis¬ 
guised, moves in among the flock, which takes the appearance to 
be a mere floating calabash, while suddenly pulling them under 
by the legs, he fastens them to his girdle, and thus takes as 


110 


FRANK FORESTER S FIELD SPORTS. 


many as he can conveniently stow away, without in the least 
alarming the rest. They are also taken with snares made of 
horsehair, or with hooks baited with small pieces of sheep’s 
lights, which, floating on the surface, are swallowed by the 
Ducks, and with them the hooks. They are also approached 
under cover of a stalking horse, or a figure formed of thin 
boards, or other proper materials, and painted so as to represent 
a horse or an ox. 

“ But all these methods require much watching, toil, and 
fatigue ; and their success is but trifling when compared with 
that of the decoys now used both in France and England; 
which, from its superiority over every other mode, is well de¬ 
serving the attention of persons of this country residing in the 
neighborhood of extensive marshes frequented by Wild Ducks, 
as by this method Mallard and other kinds may be taken by 
thousands at a time.”— Wilson’s Am. Ornithology. 

Next in size, though neither in beauty nor in excellence, to 
the Mallard, comes the Dusky Duck, better known in every 
part of the United States as the Black Duck , the latter being a 
misnomer as applied to this fowl, and really belonging to a very 
different bird, which will be treated of hereafter with the Sea 
Ducks— Fuligula. This bird, unlike the former species, which 
is common to both continents, Europe and America, if not to 
Africa and Asia also, is peculiar to North America, ranging 
from Labrador to Texas; in both of which, strange to say, 
and in all the intermediate localities, it breeds and rears its 
young. 


THE DUSKY DUCK. 

Anas Obscura — Wilson , Bonap. The Black Duck. 

“ Breeds in Texas, westward, and throughout the United 
States, British Provinces, Labrador, and Columbia River. 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


Ill 


Common in autumn and spring along the middle Atlantic dis¬ 
tricts. Abundant in the Southern and Western States in winter. 

° Adult male. 

“ Bill about the length of the head, higher than broad at the 
base, depressed and widened toward the end, rounded at the 
tip. Upper mandible with the dorsal line sloping and a little 
concave, the ridge at the base broad and flat, toward the end 
broadly convex, as are the sides; the edges soft and thin, the 
marginal lamellae about forty on each side. The unguis obovate, 
curved, abrupt at the end. Nasal groove sub-basal, elliptical, 
filled with the soft membrane of the bill; nostrils sub-basal, 
placed near the ridge, longitudinal, elliptical, pervious. Lower 
mandible slightly curved upward, flattened, with the angle very 
long, narrow, and rather pointed ; the lamellae about sixty. 

“ Head of moderate size, oblong, compressed. Neck rather 
long and slender. Body full, depressed. Feet short, stout, 
placed a little behind the centre of the body. Legs bare a little 
above the joint. Tarsus short, a little compressed, anteriorly 
with small scutella, externally of which is a series continuous 
with those of the outer toe, laterally and behind with reticulated 
angular scales. Hind toe extremely small, with a very narrow 
membrane ; third toe longest, fourth a little shorter, but longer 
than the second; the scutella of the second and third oblique, 
of the outer transverse ; the three anterior toes connected by 
reticulated membranes, the outer with a thick margin, the inner 
with a margin extended into a slightly lobed web. Claws small 
arched, compressed, rather obtuse, that of the middle toe much 
larger, with a dilated thin edge. 

u Plumage dense, soft, elastic ; on the neck and head the fea¬ 
thers linear-oblong, on the other parts, broad and rounded. 
Wings of moderate breadth and length, acute ; primaries narrow 
and tapering, the second longest, the first very little shorter ; 
secondaries broad, curved inward ; the inner elongated and taper¬ 
ing. Tail short, much rounded, of eighteen acute feathers, none 
of which are recurved. 

u Bill yellowish-green, the unguis dusky. Iris dark brown. 
10 


VOL. I. 


112 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


Feet orange-red, the webs dusky. The upper part of the fiead 
is glossy brownish-black, the feathers margined with light 
brown ; the sides of the head and a band over the eye are light 
grayish-brown, with longitudinal dusky streaks ; the middle of 
the neck is similar, but more dusky. The general color is 
blackish-brown, a little paler beneath; all the feathers margined 
with pale, reddish-brown. The wing coverts are grayish dusky, 
with a slight tinge of green; the ends of the secondary coverts 
velvet-black. Primaries and their coverts blackish-brown, with 
the shafts brown; secondaries darker ; the speculum is green, 
blue, violet, or amethyst-purple, according to th.e light in which 
it is viewed, bounded by velvet-black ; the feathers also tipped 
with a narrow line of white. The whole under surface of the 
wing and the axillaries, white. 

u Length to.the end of tail, 24| inches ; to the end of claws, 
26 ; extent of wings, 38|; bill, 2 j 4 2 along the back ; wing from 
flexure, 111; tail, 4 T 4 2; tarsus, 111; middle toe, 2 T 3 2 ; first toe, 
,- 5 2 ; its claw, ; weight, 31bs. 

“ Adult female. 

u The female, which is somewhat smaller, resembles the male 
in color, but is more brown, and has the speculum of the same 
tints, but without the white terminal line. 

u Length to the end of tail, 22 inches ; to the end of wings, 
211; to the end of claws, 22 ; wing from flexure, 101; extent 
of wings, 341; tarsus, 2 ; middle toe and claw, 2\ ; hind toe and 
claw, -h. 

“ This species extends its migrations from the Straits of Belle- 
isle, on the coast of Labrador, to Texas. Strange as it may 
seem, it breeds in both of these countries, and in many of the 
intermediate places. On the 10th of May, 1833, I found it 
breeding along the marshy edges of the inland pools, near the 
Bay of Fundy; and on Whitehead Island, in the same bay, saw 
several young birds of the same species, which, although appa¬ 
rently not a week old, were extremely active, both on land and 
water. On the 30th of April, 1837, my son discovered a nest 
on Galveston Island, in Texas. It was formed of grass and 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


113 


feathers : the eggs, eight m number, lying on the former, sur¬ 
rounded with the down and some feathers of the bird to the 
height of about three inches. The internal diameter of the nest 
was about six inches, and its walls were nearly three in thick¬ 
ness. The female was sitting, but flew off* in silence as he ap¬ 
proached. The situation was a clump of tall, slender grass, on 
a rather sandy ridge, more than a hundred yards from the near 
est water, but surrounded by partially dried salt marshes. On 
the same island, in the course of several successive days, we 
saw many of these Ducks, which, by their actions, showed that 
they also had nests. I may here state my belief, that the Gad- 
wall, Blue-winged Teal, Green-winged Teal, American Widgeon 
and Spoon-billed Duck, all breed in that country, as I observed 
them there late in May, when they were evidently paired. How 
far this fact may harmonize with the theories of writers respect¬ 
ing the migration of birds in general, is more than I can at pre¬ 
sent stop to consider. I have found the Black Ducks breeding 
on lakes near the Mississippi, as far up as to its confluence with 
the Ohio, as well as in Pennsylvania and New Jersey; and 
every one acquainted with its habits will tell you that it rears 
its young in all the Eastern States intervening between that last 
mentioned and the St. Lawrence. It is even found on the Co¬ 
lumbia River, and on the streams of the Rocky Mountains ; but 
as Dr. Richardson has not mentioned his having observed it in 
Hudson’s Bay, or farther north, we may suppose that it does not 
visit those countries. 

“ As many of the nests found in Labrador differed from the 
one mentioned above, I will give you an account of them :—In 
several instances, we found them imbedded in the deep moss, at 
the distance of a few feet, or a few yards from the water ; they 
were composed of a great quantity of dry grass and other vege¬ 
table substances ; and the eggs were always placed directly on 
this bed, without the intervention of the down and feathers, 
which, however, surrounded them, and which, as I observed, 
the bird always uses to cover them, when she is about to leave 
them for a time. The eggs are two inches and a quarter in 


114 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


length, one inch and five-eighths in breadth, shaped like those 
of a domestic fowl, with a smooth surface, and of a uniform 
yellowish-white color, like that of ivory tarnished by long ex¬ 
posure. The young, like those of the Mallard, acquire the full 
beauty of their spring plumage before the season of reproduction 
commences, but exhibit none of the curious changes which that 
species undergo. 

“ Although the Dusky Duck is often seen on salt water bays 
or inlets, it resembles the Mallard in its habits, being fond of 
swampy marshes, rice fields, and the shady margins of our riv¬ 
ers, during the whole of its stay in such portions of the Southern 
States as it is known to breed in. They are equally voracious, 
and may sometimes be seen with their crops so protruded as to 
destroy the natural elegance of their form. When on the water, 
they obtain their food by immersing their head and neck in the 
water, and, like the Mallard, sift the produce of muddy pools. 
Like that species also, they will descend in a spiral manner from 
on high, to alight under an oak or a beech, where they have dis¬ 
covered the mast to be abundant. 

“ The flight of this Duck is powerful, rapid, and as sustained 
as that of the Mallard. While travelling by day, they may be 
distinguished from that species by the whiteness of their lower 
wing-coverts, which form a strong contrast to the deep tints ot 
the rest of the plumage. Their progress through the air, when 
at full speed, must, I think, be at the rate of more than a mile 
in a minute, or about seventy miles an hour. When about to 
alight, they descend with double rapidity, causing a strong, 
rustling sound by the weight of their compact bodies and the 
rapid movements of their pointed wings. When alarmed by a 
shot or otherwise, they rise off their feet by a powerful single 
spring, fly directly upwards for eight or ten yards, and then pro¬ 
ceed in a straight line. 

“ The Black Ducks generally appear in the Sound of Long 
Island in September or October, but, in very cold weather, pro¬ 
ceed Southward; while those which breed in Texas, as I have 
been informed, remain there all the year. At their arrival they 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


115 


betake themselves to the fresh-water ponds, and soon become 
fat, when they afford excellent eating ; but when the ponds are 
covered with ice, they betake themselves to estuaries or inlets 
of the sea, and their flesh becomes less juicy, and assumes a 
fishy flavor. During continued frost, they collect into larger 
bodies than at any other time—a flock once alighted seeming to 
attract others, until at last hundreds of them meet, especially in 
the dawn and toward sunset. The larger the flock, however, 
the more difficult it is to approach it, for many sentinels are seen 
on the lookout, while the rest are asleep or feeding along the 
shores. Unlike the Sea Ducks, this species does not ride at an¬ 
chor, as it were, during its hours of repose.”— Audubon's Birds 
of America. 


THE BLUE-WINGED TEAL. 

Anas Discors. 

“ Male, 16.31*. Female, 15.24. 

“Breeds in Texas and Westward, Great Lakes, Fur Coun¬ 
tries, Columbia River. Very abundant in autumn and spring in 
the Middle Atlantic Districts, as well as in the interior. Abun¬ 
dant also in all the Southern States. 

“ Adult Male. 

“ Bill almost as long as the head, deeper than broad at the 
base, depressed toward the end ; its breadth nearly equal in its 
whole length, being, however, a little enlarged toward the 
rounded tip. Upper mandible with the dorsal outline at first 
sloping, then nearly straight, on the unguis decurved, the ridge 
broad and flat at the base, suddenly narrowed over the nostrils, 
broader and convex toward the end ; the sides erect at the base, 
afterward sloping and convex ; the narrow membranous mar¬ 
gins a little broader at the end. Nostrils sub-basal, near the 
ridge, rather small, elliptical, pervious. Lower mandible flat¬ 
tened, straight, with the angle very long and rather narrow, the 


116 FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 

dorsal line very short and slightly convex, the sides internally 
erect, with about a hundred and twenty lamellae. 

“ Head of a moderate size, oblong, compressed. Neck of 
moderate length, rather slender. Body full, depressed. Feet 
short, placed rather far back. Tarsus short, compressed at its 
lower part, anteriorly with two series of scutella, the rest cov¬ 
ered with reticulated angular scales. Toes with numerous scu¬ 
tella above. First toe very small, and with a narrow membrane 
beneath; third longest; fourth about a quarter of an inch 
shorter ; the anterior toes united by reticulated webs, of which 
the outer is deeply sinuate. Claws small, curved, compressed, 
acute ; the hind one smaller and more curved, that of the third 
toe largest, and with the inner margin sharp. 

“ Plumage dense, soft and blended. Feathers of the head and 
neck very small and slender—of the back and lower parts in 
general, broad and rounded. Wings of moderate length, rather 
narrow and acute ; primaries strong, slightly curved, tapering; 
the first scarcely longer than the second, the rest rapidly de¬ 
creasing ; secondaries broad, the outer obliquely rounded, the 
inner elongated and acuminate, as are the scapulars. Tail 
short, rounded and acuminate, of fourteen rather narrow acumi¬ 
nate feathers. 

“ Bill bluish-black. Iris dark hazel. Feet dull yellow ; 
webs dusky. Claws brownish-black, with the tips grayish-yel¬ 
low. Upper part of the head black ; a semilunar patch of pure 
white on the side of the head before the eye, margined before 
and behind with black. The rest of the head, and the anterior 
parts of the neck, of a deep purplish-blue, with purplish-red re¬ 
flections ; the lower hind neck and fore-part of back brownish- 
black, glossed with green, each feather with a curved band of 
pale reddish-buff, and a line or band of the same in the centre; 
the hind part of the back greenish-brown, the feathers edged 
with paler. The smaller wing-coverts of a rich ultra-marine 
blue, silky, with almost metallic lustre. Alula, primary coverts 
and primary quills, grayish-brown, edged with pale bluish ; 
outer secondaries of the same color, those of the speculum duck- 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


117 


green, changing to blue and bronze, with a narrow line of white 
along their terminal margin; the inner greenish-black on the 
outer web, greenish-brown on the inner, with a central line and 
narrow external margin of pale reddish-buff; the more elongated 
scapulars similar, but some of them margined with greenish- 
blue. Secondary coverts brown, with their terminal portion 
white. Tail feathers chocolate-brown, slightly glossed with 
green ; their margins huffy. The lower parts are pale reddish- 
orange, shaded on the breast with purplish-red, and thickly 
spotted with black, the number of roundish or elliptical spots on 
each feather varying from ten to twenty-five ; those on the upper 
and hind parts of the sides running into transverse bars. Axil¬ 
lary feathers, some of the lower wing-coverts, and a patch on the 
side of the rump, pure white ; lower tail coverts brownish-black. 

' u Length to end of tail, 16 inches ; to end of claws, 14} ; to 
end of wings, 14}; extent of wings, 31} ; wing from flexure, 
7j2 ; tail, 3 t 5 2 ; bill along the back, 1}; from frontal process to 
tip, 1}; tarsus, 1 J first toe and claw, ja ; middle toe and 
claw, l}f; outer toe and claw, 1 T 8 2 ; weight, 12}oz. 

u Adult Female. 

u Bill greenish-dusky. Iris hazel. Feet of a duller yellow 
than those of female ; the head and neck are pale, dull buff, lon¬ 
gitudinally marked with brownish-black lines, which are broader 
and darker on the top of the head ; the fore-parts of the cheek 
and the throat whitish, without markings. The upper parts are 
dark brown, the feathers margined with brownish-white. The 
smaller wing-coverts colored as in the male, but less brilliantly; 
no blue on the scapulars, which are also less elongated. On the 
lower parts, the feathers are dusky-brown, broadly margined 
with light brownish-gray, of which there is a streak or spot in 
the centre. The axillary feathers, and some of the lower wing- 
coverts are white, but the patch of that color, so conspicuous in 
the male, is wanting. 

u Length to end of tail, 15 inches ; to end of wings, 14}; 
to end of claws, 15}; extent of wings, 24; wing from flexure, 
7} ; tail, 2 i 3 ; bill along the ridge, 2j%; weight, 10}oz. 


118 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


u The young birds are similar to the female, but paler, and 
without the speculum.”— Audubon's Birds of America. 

“ The Blue-Winged Teal is the first of its tribe that returns 
to us in the autumn from its breeding-place in the North. They 
are usually seen early in September along the shores of the Dela¬ 
ware, where they sit on the mud, close to the edge of the water, 
so crowded together, that the gunners often kill great numbers 
at a single discharge. When a flock is discovered thus sitting 
and sunning themselves, the experienced gunner runs his bateau 
ashore at some distance above or below them, and, getting out, 
pushes her before him over the slippery mud, concealing him¬ 
self all the while behind her. By this method he can sometimes 
approach within twenty yards of the flock, among which he 
generally makes great slaughter. They fly rapidly, and when 
they alight, drop down suddenly, like the Snipe or Woodcock, 
among the reeds or on the mud. They feed chiefly on vegeta¬ 
ble food, and are eagerly fond of the seeds of the reeds or wild 
oats. Their flesh is excellent, and after their residence for a 
short time among the reeds, they become very fat. As the first 
frosts come on, they proceed to the South, being a delicate bird, 
very susceptible of cold. They abound in the inundated rice fields 
of the Southern States, where vast numbers are taken in traps, 
placed on small dry eminences, that here and there rise above 
the water. These places are strewed with rice, and by the 
common contrivance called a figure four they are caught alive 
in hollow traps. In the month of April they pass through Penn¬ 
sylvania for the North, but make little stay at that season. I 
have observed them numerous on the Hudson, opposite to the 
Katskill Mountains. They rarely visit the sea shore .”—Wil 
son's Am. Ornithology. 

The Blue-Winged Teal is stated to be very easily tan .ed, and 
very docile in confinement. It is strange that this bird find the 
Wood Duck are not both domesticated. 




GREEN AND BLUE WINGED TEAL. 
































































































































































































































































































































































































UPLAND SHOOTING. 


ltd 


THE GREEN-WINGED TEAL. 

Anas Crecca , sive, Carolinensis. 

“ Male, 14|.24. Female, 13f.22i 

u Dispersed throughout the country during autumn and spring. 
Extremely abundant during winter in all the Southern States 
and Texas. Breeds sparingly along the Great Lakes, and far 
North. 

“ Adult Male. 

u Bill almost as long as the head, deeper than broad at the 
base, depressed toward the end, its breadth nearly equal in its 
whole length, being, however, a little enlarged toward the 
rounded tip. Upper mandible with the dorsal line at first slop¬ 
ing, then concave, toward the ends nearly straight, the ridge 
broad and flat at the base, then broadly convex, the sides con¬ 
vex, the edges soft, with about fifty-five lamellae. Nostrils 
sub-basal, near the ridge rather small, elliptical, pervious. 
Lower mandible flattish, with the angle very long and rather 
narrow. The dorsal line very short, straight, the sides perpen¬ 
dicular, with about a hundred and thirty lamellae. 

u Head of moderate size, compressed. Neck of moderate 
length, rather slender. Body full, depressed. Wings rather 
small. Feet short, placed rather far back. Tarsus short, com¬ 
pressed at its lower part, anteriorly with two series of scutella, 
the rest covered with reticulated angular scales. Toes scutel- 
late above ; first toe very small, free, with a narrow membrane 
beneath ; third longest, fourth a little shorter ; the anterior toes 
connected by reticulated webs, of which the outer is deeply si¬ 
nuate. Claws small, curved, compressed, acute; the hind one 
smaller and more curved ; that of the third toe largest, and with 
an inner sharp edge. 

u Plumage dense, soft, blended. Feathers of the middle of 
the head and upper part of hind neck very narrow, elongated, 
with soft, filamentous, disunited bands ; of the rest of the head 


120 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


and upper parts of neck very short; of the back and lower 
parts in general, broad and rounded. Wings of moderate length, 
narrow, acute. Primaries strong, curved, tapering; second 
longest; first scarcely shorter ; secondaries broad, rather point¬ 
ed, the inner elongated and tapering, as are the scapulars. Tail 
short, rounded and acuminate, of sixteen acuminate feathers. 

“ Bill black. Iris brown. Feet light bluish-gray. Head and 
upper part of the neck chestnut-brown ; a broad band narrowing 
backward from the eye down the back of the neck, deep, shin¬ 
ing green, edged with black below ; under which is a white line, 
which, before the eye, meets another that curves forward and 
downward to the angles of the mouth. Chin brownish-black, as 
are the feathers at the base of the upper mandible. Upper parts 
and flanks beautifully undulated with narrow, brownish-black 
and white bars ; anterior to the wings is a short, broad, trans¬ 
verse band of white. Wings brownish-gray; the speculum in 
the lower half violet-black, the upper bright green, changing to 
purple, and edged with black; behind margined with white, be¬ 
fore with reddish-white. Tail brownish-gray, the feathers mar¬ 
gined with paler; the upper coverts brownish-black, edged 
with light yellowish-gray. Lower part of neck anteriorly 
barred as behind. Breast yellowish-white, spotted with black; 
its lower part white. Abdomen white, faintly barred with gray. 
A patch of black under the tail; the lateral tail-coverts cream- 
colored, the larger black, with broad w r hite margins and tips. 

“Length to end of tail, 14} inches; to end of claws, 15} ; 
extent of wings, 24; wing from flexure, 7£; tail, ; bill 
along the back, 1 T 7 2 ; along the edge of lower mandible, lfk; 
tarsus, 1 t 2 2 ; middle toe, 1; its claw, ; weight, lOoz. 

“ Adult female. 

“ The female wants the elongated crest, and differs greatly in 
coloring. The head and neck are streaked with dark brown 
and light red; the foreneck whitish; the upper parts mottled 
with dark brown; the anterior feathers barred, the posteriors 
margined with yellowish-white. The wings are nearly as in 
the male, but the green of the speculum is less extensive; the 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


121 


lower part of the foreneck is tinged with yellowish-red, and 
mottled with dark brown, as are the sides ; the rest of the lower 
parts wdiite. 

u Length to end of tail, 13f; to end of claws, 14f; extent of 
wings, 22}' weight, lOoz.”— Audubotfs Birds of America. 

u Most writers on the ornithology of America have consid¬ 
ered this bird as a variety of the European Teal. All, how¬ 
ever, agree in their regarding the difference in the variety, and 
of its being constant in the Northern specimens. Thus, Dr. 
Latham mentions the white pectoral band. Forster says, ‘ This 
is a variety of the Teal, for it wants the two white streaks 
above and below the eyes ; the lower one indeed is faintly ex¬ 
pressed in the male, which has also a lunated bar of white over 
each shoulder; this is not to be found in the European Teal.’ 
Pennant observes, 1 that it wants the white line which the Euro¬ 
pean one has above each eye, having only one below; has over 
each shoulder a lunated bar.’ The authors of the Northern 
Zoology observe, 4 The only permanent difference that we have 
been able to detect, after comparing a number of specimens, is 
that the English Teal has a w’hite longitudinal band on the 
scapulars, which the other wants. All the specimens brought 
home by the Expedition have a broad transverse bar on the shoul¬ 
der, which does not exist in the English one.’ And our author 
in his plate, has most distinctly marked the differences. From 
the testimony of all its describers, marking the variety as perma¬ 
nent and similar, I am certainly inclined to consider this bird, 
though nearly allied, to be distinct; and as far as we yet know, 
peculiar to the Northern parts of America. I have not been 
able to procure a specimen for immediate comparison, and only 
once had an opportunity of slightly examining a Northern bird. 
From their great similarity no observers have yet particularly 
attended to the manners of the American bird, or to the mark¬ 
ings of the females. If the above observations are the means of 
directing farther attention to these points, they will have per- 


122 FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 

formed their intended end. I by no means consider the point 
decided. 

The naturalists of Europe have designated this little Duck 
by the name of American Teal, as being a species different from 
their own. On an examination, however, of the figure and de¬ 
scription of the European Teal, by the ingenious and accurate 
Bewick, and comparing them with the present, no difference 
whatever appears in the length, extent, color, or markings of 
either but what commonly occurs among individuals of any 
other tribe,* both undoubtedly belong to one and the same 
species. 

“ This, like the preceding, is a fresh water Duck, common 
in our markets in autumn and winter, but rarely seen here in 
summer. It frequents ponds, marshes, and the reedy shores of 
creeks and rivers ; is very abundant among the rice plantations 
of the Southern States ; flies in small parties, and feeds at night; 
associates often with the Duck and Mallard, feeding on the 
seeds of various kinds of grasses and water plants, and also on 
the tender leaves of vegetables. Its flesh is accounted excel¬ 
lent.”— Wilson's Ornithological Biography. 

I have myself repeatedly shot this bird on both continents, and 
am now thoroughly convinced that the two species are perma¬ 
nently and invariably distinct. In my first edition I recorded a 
contrary opinion, but subsequent examination of many specimens 
has led to a correcter judgment. The transverse lunated bar 
on the shoulder of the American species, as exhibited in the 
accompanying cut, is the distinctive mark, and I am not sure 
but that our bird is somewhat the larger. 


THE WOOD DUCK—SUMMER DUCK. 

Anas Sponsa. 

“ Male, 20£.28. Female, 19i 

u Breeds throughout the country from Texas to the Colum- 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


123 


Dia, and Eastward to Nova Scotia ; Far Countries. Accumu ¬ 
lates in the Southern Districts in winter. 

u Adult male. 

“Bill shorter than the head, deeper than broad at the base, 
depressed toward the end, slightly narrowed toward the middle 
of the unguis, the frontal angles prolonged and pointed. Upper 
mandible with the dorsal line at first sloping, then concave, 
along the unguis convex, the ridge broad and flat at the base, 
convex and sloping toward the end, edges soft with about 
twenty-two lamellse, unguis broadly elliptical, curved, rounded. 
Nostrils sub-basal, lateral, rather small, oval, pervious. Lower 
mandible flattish, with the angle very long and rather narrow, 
the dorsal line very short, convex, the sides convex, the edges 
soft and rounded, lamellate above. 

u Head of moderate size. Neck rather long and slender. Body 
full and depressed. Wings rather small. Feet very short, strong, 
placed rather far back ; tarsus very short, considerably depress¬ 
ed, at its lower part anteriorly with two series of scutella, the 
rest covered with reticulated angular scales. Toes scutellate 
above ; first very small, free, with a narrow membrane beneath ; 
third longest, fourth a little shorter ; claws small, curved, com¬ 
pressed, acute; the hind one smaller and more curved, that of 
the third toe with an inner sharp edge. 

u Plumage dense, soft, blended, generally glossed. Feathers 
of the middle of the head and upper part of the hind neck very 
narrow, elongated, and uncurved; of the rest of the head and 
upper part of the neck very short; of the back and lower parts 
in general broad and rounded, excepting on the shoulders before 
the wings, where they are enlarged, very broad and abrupt. 
Wings of moderate length, narrow, acute ; primaries curved, 
strong, tapering, first and second longest; secondaries broad and 
rounded. Tail of moderate length, rather broad, much rounded, 
of sixteen rounded feathers. 

“ Upper mandible bright red at the base, yellowish at the 
sides; the intermediate space along the ridge and the unguis 
black, as in the lower mandible and its membrane. Iris and 


124 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


edges of eye-lids bright red. Feet dull orange; claws black. 
Upper part of the head, and space between the hill and the 
eye, deep green and highly glossed ; below the latter space a 
patch of dark purple, and a larger one of the same color, but 
lighter, behind the eye ; sides of the neck, its hind parts under 
the crest and the middle all round very dark purple. A narrow 
line along the base of the upper mandible and over the eye, 
meeting on the occiput, very pure white, as are some of the 
feathers of the crest; another from behind the eye, meeting 
below the occiput, and including several of the lower elongated 
feathers. Throat for more than three inches pure white, with 
a process on each side a little beyond the eye, and another 
nearly half way down the throat. Sides of the neck, and its 
lower part anteriorly, reddish-purple, each feather on the latter 
with a triangular white tip. Middle of the neck behind, back 
and rump, very dark reddish-brown, the latter deeper and 
tinged with green; upper tail coverts and tail greenish-black ; 
some of the lateral tail coverts dull reddish-purple, a few on 
either side with their filaments light red. Smaller wing coverts, 
alula, and primaries dull grayish-brown; most of the latter 
with part of their outer web grayish-white, and their inner 
toward the tip darker and glossed with green. Secondary quills 
tipped with white, the outer webs green, with purple reflec¬ 
tions ; those of the inner secondaries and scapulars velvet black, 
their inner webs partially glossed, and changing to green. The 
broad feathers anterior to the wings are white, terminated with 
black; breast and abdomen grayish-white; feathers under the 
wings yellowish-gray, minutely undulated with black and white 
bars; lower wing coverts and axillar features white, barred 
with grayish-brown ; lower tail coverts dull grayish-brown. 

“ Length, 2P£ inches; to the end of claws, 17|; extent of 
wings, 28; bill, 1 T 6 2 ; tarsus, lfk; middle toe and claw, 
wing from flexure, 9 ; tail, 4». 

u Adult female. 

“ The female is considerably smaller, and differs greatly from 
the male in coloring. The feathers of the head are not elon- 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


125 


gated, but those of the upper part of the neck are slightly so. 
In other respects the plumage presents nothing very remarkable, 
and is similar to that of the male, only the feathers anterior to 
the wing, the hypochondrial, the inner secondaries and the 
rump feathers, are not enlarged as in him. Bill blackish-brown ; 
feet dusky, tinged with yellow. Upper part of the head dusky, 
glossed with green ; sides of the head and neck, and the hind 
part of the latter, light brownish-gray; throat white, but with¬ 
out the lateral processes of the male. Forepart of the neck 
below, and sides, light yellowish-brown, mottled with dark 
grayish-brown, as are the sides under the wings; breast and 
abdomen white, the former spotted with brown. Hind neck, 
back and rump, dark brown, glossed with green and purple. 
Wings as in the male, but the speculum less, and the seconda¬ 
ries externally faint reddish-purple; the velvet black of the 
male diminished to a few narrow markings. Tail dark brown, 
glossed with green; lower tail-coverts p-ale grayish-brown, 
mottled with white; lower wing-coverts as in the male. 

“ Length, 19| inches. 

u This beautiful species ranges over the whole extent of the 
United States, and I have seen it in all parts from Louisiana to 
the confines of Maine, and from the vicinity of our Atlantic 
coasts as far inland as my travels have extended. It also occurs 
sparingly in the breeding season in Nova Scotia, but farther 
North I did not observe it. Everywhere in this immense tract, 

I have found it an almost constant resident, for some spend the 
winter even in Massachusetts, and far up the warm spring 
waters of brooks on the Missouri. It confines itself, however, 
entirely to fresh water, preferring at all times the secluded 
retreats of the ponds, bayous, or creeks, which occur so pro¬ 
fusely in our woods. 

u The flight of this species is remarkable for its speed, and 
for the ease and elegance with which it is performed. The 
Wood Duck passes through the woods, and even among the 
branches of trees, with as much facility as the Passenger Pigeon ; 
and while removing from some secluded haunt to its breeding- 


126 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


grounds at the approach of night, it shoots over the trees like a 
meteor, scarcely emitting any sound from its wings. 

“ The Wood Duck breeds in the Middle States about the 
beginning of April, in Massachusetts a month later, and in Nova 
Scotia, or our Northern Lakes, seldom before the first days of 
June. In Louisiana and Kentucky, where I have had better 
opportunities of studying their habits in this respect, they gene¬ 
rally pair about the first of March, sometimes a fortnight 
earlier. I never knew one of these birds to form a nest on the 
ground, or on the branches of a tree ; they always seem to pre¬ 
fer the hollow, broken portion of some large marsh, the hole of 
our large Woodpecker, Ficus Principalis , or the deserted retreat 
of the fox squirrel; and I have frequently been surprised to see 
them go in and out of a hole of any one of these, when their 
bodies while on wing, seemed to be nearly half as large again 
as the aperture within which they had deposited their eggs. 
Once only I found a nest with ten eggs, in the fissure of a rock, 
on the Kentucky River, a few miles below Frankfort. The 
eggs, which are from six to fifteen, according to the age of the 
bird, are placed on dry plants, feathers, and a scanty portion 
of down, which I believe is mostly plucked from the breast of 
the female. They are perfectly smooth, nearly elliptical, of a 
light color between buff and pale green, two inches in length by 
one and a half in diameter ; the shell is about equal in firmness 
to that of the Mallard’s egg, and quite smooth. 

“ No sooner has the female completed her set of eggs than she 
is abandoned by her mate, who now joins others, which form 
themselves into considerable flocks, and thus remain until the 
young are able to fly, when old and young of both sexes come 
together, and so remain until the commencement of the next 
breeding season. If the nest is placed immediately over the 
water, the young, the moment they are hatched, scramble to 
the mouth of the hole, launch into the air with their little wings 
and feet spread out, and drop into their favorite element; but 
whenever their birth-place is at some distance from it, the 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


127 


mother carries them to it, one by one, in her bill, holding them 
so as not to injure their yet tender frames. 

“ Those which breed in Maine, New Brunswick, and Nova 
Scotia, move southward as soon as the frosts commence, and 
none are known to spend the winter so far North. I have been 
much surprised to find Wilson speaking of the Wood Ducks 
as a species of which more than five or six individuals are 
seldom seen together. A would-be naturalist in America, who 
has had better opportunities of knowing its habits than the 
admired author of the 4 American Ornithology,’ repeats the 
same error; and I am told, believes that all his statements are 
considered true. For my own part, I have seen hundreds in a 
single flock, and have known fifteen to be killed by a single 
shot. They, however, raise only one brood in the course of 
the season, unless their eggs or young are destroyed. In this 
case the female soon finds means of recalling her mate from the 
flock which he has joined.”— Audubon’s Birds of America . 

The discrepant statements, alluded to in the last paragraph, 
concerning the gregarious habits of the Wood Duck, may be 
probably accounted for by the difference of the bird’s manners 
in different localities. I have never myself seen above eight or 
nine of these birds together, and I presume that along the 
Atlantic seaboard, they are rarely seen in greater numbers. 
On the Great Lakes, and in the unbounded solitudes of the 
West, they doubtless congregate, as do many other species, in 
vast flocks. 

There is nothing which it behoves the observer of natural 
history more to guard against than a tendency to convert local 
or accidental peculiarities of individuals into settled habits of 
species. All wild animals appear to accommodate themselves 
with infinite facility to circumstances, and to adapt their man¬ 
ners to the necessities of the regions in which they chance to 
be thrown, more readily than is generally suspected. In one 
place, a species is solitary ; in another, gregarious in its cus¬ 
toms—here it is migratory, there domestic ; and to positive and 

YOL. I. 11 


128 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


general dicta, ascribing these habits invariably to this or that 
species, much confusion and inconvenience may be attributed. 

As an instance, I will merely state here, what I shall go into 
more largely hereafter, that the common Quail, Ortyx Virginia- 
na, which is to the Westward distinctly a bird of passage, 
with easily defined habits of migration, eastward of the Dela¬ 
ware River is unquestionably stationary; and that from this 
undoubted fact, a question has arisen whether there were not 
two different species; and, that hypothesis proved untenable, 
a doubt, among the less enlightened of Eastern sportsmen, whe¬ 
ther the naturalists and travellers who have insisted on the 
migratory habits of the Quail, especially on the Ohio and other 
large western rivers, have not ignorantly or wilfully falsified 
the truth. 

Such mistakes should be guarded against with care, and all 
conflicting statements, as made by candid and earnest enquirers, 
regarded with the utmost liberality and allowance; which, I 
regret to say, is too seldom practised by naturalists, who fre¬ 
quently appear to regard all who differ from themselves, much 
in the light of enemies, or of heretics, with whom no terms are 
to be kept. 

The last water-fowl, of which I shall give a minute descrip¬ 
tion as falling under the head of Upland Game, is the 


PINTAIL DUCK. 


Anas Acuta — Wilson. Le Canard a Longue Queue — Bnssott. 
The Winter Duck , Sprigtail , Pigeontail , vulgo. 

u Male 29.36. Female 22^.34. 

“ From Texas throughout the interior to the Columbia 
River, and along the Atlantic coast to Maine, during the 
winter, and early spring. Breeds in the Arctic regions. 
Abundant. 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


129 


“ Bill nearly as long as the head, deeper than broad at the 
base, depressed toward the end, the frontal angles short and 
obtuse. Upper mandible with dorsal line at first sloping, then 
concave—toward the curved unguis nearly straight; the ridge 
broad and flat at the base, then broadly convex ; the sides 
convex; the edges soft, with about fifty internal lamellse; 
unguis small, somewhat triangular, curved abruptly at the 
broad end. Nostrils sub-basal, lateral, rather small, oval, 
pervious. Lower mandible flattish, its angle very long and 
narrow ; the dorsal line very short, slightly convex; the sides 
convex; the edges soft, with about fifty lamellse. 

“ Head of moderate size, compressed, the forehead rounded. 
Neck rather long and slender. Body full and depressed. 
Wings rather small. Feet very short, placed rather far back; 
tarsus very short, compressed, at its lower part anteriorly with 
two series of scutella, the rest covered with reticulated scales. 
Toes obliquely scutellate above; first very small, free, with a 
narrow membrane beneath ; third longest; fourth a little shorter, 
their connecting webs entire, reticulated, at the end pectinate. 
Claws small, curved, compressed, acute; the hind one smaller 
and more curved—that of the third toe with an inner sharp 
edge. 

“ Plumage dense, soft, blended. Feathers of the head and 
neck short; on the hind head and neck elongated. Wings 
narrow, of moderate length, acute; the first quill longest, the 
second nearly equal, the rest rapidly graduated ; outer seconda¬ 
ries broad and rounded; inner elongated and tapering, as are 
their coverts and the scapulars; first quill serrated on the outer 
edge, something like that of the Owl. Tail of moderate length, 
tapering, of fourteen tapering feathers, of which the two middle 
project far beyond the rest. 

“ Bill black ; the sides of the upper mandible light blue. Iris 
brown. Feet, grayish-blue. Claws black. Head, throat, and 
upper part of the neck anteriorly greenish-brown, faintly mar¬ 
gined behind with purplish-red. A small part of hind neck 
dark-green ; the rest, and the upper parts in general, beautifully 


130 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


undulated with very narrow bars of brownish-black and yellow¬ 
ish-white. Smaller wing-coverts, alula and primary quills gray— 
the latter dark brown toward the end. Speculum of a coppery- 
red, changing to dull green ; edged anteriorly with light brown¬ 
ish-red ; posteriorly with white. The inner secondaries and the 
scapulars black and green, with broad gray margins. Upper 
tail-coverts cream-colored, the outer webs blackish and green ; 
tail light gray, the middle feathers dark brown, glossed with 
green. On each side of the neck is an oblique band of white, 
of which color are the under parts in general; the sides/how¬ 
ever, are undulated like the back; the lateral feathers of the 
rump cream-colored ; the lower tail-coverts black; those at the 
sides edged with white. 

“ Length to the end of tail, 29 inches ; extent of wings, 36 ; 
bill along the back, 2 j 2 ; along the edge of lower mandible, 
2 y 3 2 ; tarsus, ly 8 2 ; middle toe with claw, 2 j 4 2 ; wing from flexure, 
11 ; tail, ; weight 2lbs. 

“ Adult Female. 

“ The female, which is much smaller, has the upper parts va¬ 
riegated with brownish-black and light yellowish-brown ; the 
margin of the feathers and a mark on each side of the shaft be¬ 
ing of the latter color. The speculum is dusky green, margined 
behind with white. The primary quills grayish-brown. The 
lower parts are of a light brownish-yellow, the sides variegated 
with brown ; the bill is black ; the iris brown; the feet light 
bluish-gray. 

“ Length, 22\ inches ; extent of wings, 34 ; weight, lib. 9oz. 

u The first observation that I made, on arriving at Labrador, 
was that no species of Ducks, excepting those which were en 
tirely or chiefly oceanic, seemed to resort to that coast; and I 
left the country with the same impression. We saw no Mal¬ 
lards, Teals, Widgeons, or Wood Ducks there, nor any species 
of Merganser, except the Red-breasted, which is a marine bird. 
The Pintail Duck, then, was not known in the parts of that 
country which I visited ; nor was it known in Newfoundland, 
on the Magdeleine Islands, or in the British Province of Nova 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


131 


Scotia, at least along its Atlantic boundaries. In Kentucky, and 
the whole of the Western country, where it is extremely abund¬ 
ant in early autumn, during winter, and up to a very advanced 
period in spring, you meet with it wherever its usual food is to 
be found. It follows the waters of the Mississippi to New Or¬ 
leans, is seen westward in the prairies of Oppelousas, and 
extends to the eastward as far as Massachusetts, beyond which, 
like the Mallard, it is very rarely seen. Indeed, this species is 
at all times rare on the seacoast of the Atlantic, and must there¬ 
fore be regarded as an inland bird. 

“ The Pintail, which, in the United States, is better known 
by the name of Sprigtail, arrives on the Western waters early 
in October, sometimes even in September ; the period of its ar¬ 
rival depending on the state of the weather, or the appearance 
of other species with which it keeps company. Their plumage 
is in fine condition when they arrive; their tail feathers are then 
as long as at any other period, and the whole apparel of the 
adult bird is as perfect as in the breeding season. 

“ Whilst with us, the Pintail is found in company with the 
Baldpate or American Widgeon, the Blue-Winged Teal, and the 
Mallard ; more frequently on ponds than on streams ; although 
it sometimes resorts to the latter, when their shores are over¬ 
hung with beech-trees, loaded with their nutritious fruits, of 
which this species is extremely fond, and in search of which 
they even ramble a short distance into the woods. Were this 
Duck to feed entirely on beech mast, I have no doubt that its 
flesh would be excellent. It feeds on tadpoles in spring, on 
leeches in autumn; while, during the winter, a dead mouse, 
should it come in its way, is swallowed with as much avidity as 
by a Mallard. To these articles of food it adds insects of all 
kinds ; and, in fact, is by no means an inexpert fly-catcher. 

u The Pintails are less shy in the Western country than most 
species of their family; and in this respect they resemble the 
Blue-Winged Teals ; which, in fact, might be called stupid birds, 
with as much propriety as many others. They swim rather 
deeply, keep close together, and raise the hind part of the body 


132 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS 


like the Mallards. On the water, on land, or on the wing, se¬ 
veral may generally be killed at a shot. They are scarcely noc¬ 
turnal, but rest much in the middle of the day; basking in the 
sunshine whilst on the water, whenever they can indulge in this 
luxury. 

“ The flight of the Pintails is very rapid, greatly protracted, 
and almost noiseless. They remain at night in the ponds where 
they feed; and continue there generally, unless much disturbed. 
On such occasions they keep in the middle of the water, to 
avoid their land enemies. In the Middle States they are highly 
esteemed for the table. There they arrive later, and retire 
sooner toward their breeding places, than in the country west 
of the Alleghany Mountains.”— Audubon’s Birds of America 

This species, like the last, is seldom found, in the northern 
part of the Middle and Eastern States, in such large flocks, as 
it would appear to use in the West. It is often found soli¬ 
tary ; and very seldom, in my own experience, are more than 
three or four to be found in company. 

I entertain some suspicion that the Pintail Duck occasionally 
breeds in New Jersey and in New York. In the former State, 
on one occasion, I shot an adult female bird, in full plumage, as 
late as the twelfth of May. She rose, before a dead point from 
an old setter, out of a thick tuft of alders on a large marsh mea¬ 
dow. I could find no traces of a nest, but can conceive no 
object but that of nidification which should have induced the 
bird to seek such a haunt. I have several times shot these birds 
during spring Snipe-shooting, so late as the end of April. 

The American Widgeon, Anas Americana , is occasionally 
found on fresh waters, especially to the westward of the Ohio ; 
but rarely frequents rivers, except on their estuaries and sand¬ 
bars, where it associates more with the Fuligulce , or Sea Ducks, 
than with its immediate congeners. It is found on the Chesa¬ 
peake with the Canvass-back, and is known as the u Bald- 
pate.” 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


133 


The Shoveller, Anas Clypeata , is rare in the United 
States ; though they are found in Louisiana, Florida, and the 
Carolinas, in winter ; but are abundant on the streams of the 
Rocky Mountains and in Texas. 

The Gadwall, Anas Strepera , is also found, though rarely, 
along the maritime districts of the States. In the interior, espe¬ 
cially on the tributaries of the Ohio, Missouri, and Mississippi, 
it is said to abound. It is of solitary habits, rarely congregating 
in large bodies, and is therefore not generally known in the 
United States. 

Of the Sea Ducks, the Golden-Eye, Fuligula Clangula , 
and the Buffel-Head, Fuligula Albeola , better known as the 
u Whistler,” and the u Butter-Ball,” are at times found on the 
fresh waters of the interior, but not in sufficient numbers to ren¬ 
der it necessary to do more than name them, as it would be a 
most liberal courtesy which should extend to them the style of 
Upland game, which may be held to be completed with the 
Duck last described. 

The list thus concluded, the nomenclature established on 
fixed grounds, and the general habits and territorial limits of 
every kind of Upland game being thus laid before the reader, 
I shall proceed to treat, each in its several place and season, of 
the Upland shooting of the Eastern and Middle United States, 
and the Provinces, in all its various kinds and phases ; touching 
upon each according to the date-of its commencement in the 
natural year.* 


* Since writing the above page, I ascertained, during two journeys 
through Canada, one along the northern shore of Lake Huron so far as to 
the Sault St. Marie,first, that “ Widgeon” are exceedingly abundant on 
the rivers and rice lakes of that region. 

And secondly, that on Lake Champlain and on the St. Lawrence, about 
Prescott, the Golden Eye is the most numerous Duck, and that which 
affords most sport on those waters. 

For the description of an excellent Duck, which I found very abundant 
on the upper lakes, and which I believe to be a nondescript, though the 
point is not quite decided, see Vol. II, Appendix F. 


134 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


THE UPLAND SHOOTING 

OF THE 

EASTERN AND MIDDLE STATES, AND OF THE 
BRITISH PROVINCES. 


PLAND SHOOTING, which, 
with the interval of about three 
months in ordinary seasons, may 
be enjoyed in some form or other 
during the whole year, in the 
Eastern and Middle States, may 
be divided with propriety into 
four different heads, commencing 
with the opening of spring, and terminating only with the termi¬ 
nation of the year. 

These heads are “ Spring Snipe Shooting“ Summer Cock 
Shooting;” “Upland Plover Shooting;” and “ Autumn Shoot¬ 
ing,” which might be called u general shooting,” inasmuch as in 
the course of a good day’s sport, it is by no means unusual to 
bring to bag almost every variety of game which I have enume¬ 
rated above, the Grouse and the Northern Hare alone excepted. 

A separate head must be given to Grouse shooting,—by which 
I mean Pinnated Grouse ; since they are so nearly extinct in 
those districts in which alone Upland Shooting is practised sci¬ 
entifically and as a sport, that they are rarely, I might say never 
met with, by those in pursuit of other game. 

It will be observed that I am now speaking of Upland shoot¬ 
ing, as it is ; both established by law, and habitually practised 




UPLAND SHOUTING. 


135 


in those of the States in which only game is generally protected 
by statute; not as I think it should he. For it is my settled opi¬ 
nion that Spring Snipe shooting and Summer Cock shooting are 
both abominations ; and that both humanity and policy forbid the 
slaughter of these birds of passage, until they have finished rear¬ 
ing their young, and until those young have attained their full 
growth. On this topic I shall enlarge hereafter, under the head 
of u Game Preservationthough I have but slight hopes that 
any steps will be taken, which can avail to preserve all the 
winged game of America from speedy extermination. In like 
manner, I shall defer the observations, which I propose to make 
on the species, management, diseases, etc., of Sporting Dogs, and 
and on the qualities and management of the Fowlingpiece, and 
the art of shooting on the Wing, until I have got through what 1 
have to say on Upland shooting generally. 

And here I will remark, once for all, in reply to a question 
which has already been propounded to me several times, since it 
has transpired that I am engaged on this work—“ Whether any 
portion of it will be set apart especially for the instruction of 
young sportsmen ?”—I am aware of nothing in the science 
of woodcraft more appropriate to be learned by the beginner, 
than another. There is no patent by which skill may be ac¬ 
quired, no formula to be learned, after, which all is plain and 
easy sailing. So soon as any person has acquired the power 
of bringing up his gun correctly on an object, and firing it at 
once without dwelling on his aim, he is fit to take the field; 
and after this, all the difference between the old and young, the 
good and bad, sportsman, natural qualifications which cannot be 
acquired alone excepted, is the amount of practice, and the extent 
of observation. He who most thoroughly understands the natural 
history, the instincts and the habits, both of the animals which he 
pursues and the animals which he uses as assistants in pursuit, 
will necessarily be the best sportsman; and all that the best sport¬ 
ing writer can accomplish is to give a small number of facts on 
which to work; and so to throw out many suggestions, which 
shall lead the sportsman into the habit of thinking for himself, 


136 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


and seeing with his own eyes; and above all, cause him to 
avoid regarding the smallest peculiarity he may observe in the 
field of nature unworthy of consideration. 

With regard to the art of shooting, a very few instructions only 
can be given, and they can do but little toward the formation of a 
shot. Practice alone can make a good shot, even of one en¬ 
dowed with the greatest natural aptitude ; and, without the 
gift of natural aptitude, no one can ever hope to be a crack 
shot on the wing. No one, however, who desires it, need des 
pair of becoming, in something more than a moderate degree, 
a proficient in this beautiful art, since the introduction of the 
percussion system; which has so greatly simplified the art, 
and diminished the difficulty of shooting on the wing, that it 
is a current remark now-a-days that, u a bad shot in 1848 
is a rarer thing to meet than a good one was in 1800.” 

The same thing is in a less degree the case with the man¬ 
agement of dogs in the field; there are, it is true, general, aye, 
and particular rules, which may be laid down for the guidance 
of the hunter ; which rules, if strenuously put in practice, shall 
be in themselves all sufficient. But to this end practice is 
essential—practice in learning when and how each rule is to 
be put in force; practice in controlling impatience, in combat¬ 
ing temper, in acquiring perfect coolness and complete self- 
command. No man may hope, let him know how to do so 
never so well, to govern his dogs, until he has learned first 
to govern himself. If I were asked to state what were the 
three things most necessary to the formation of the perfect 
sportsman, I think I should parody the reply of the great 
Athenian rhetorician, and reply, “ Practice ! practice ! practice !” 

But of these things severally in their places: and now to 
the field for spring Snipe-shooting. 














t 



















































































































































































































































































UPLAND SHOOTING. 


137 


SPRING SNIPE-SHOOTING 



American Snipe, — Scolopax Wilsoniij —which is commonly 
known in this country as the English Snipe, but which is 
undoubtedly a distinct species, winters, as we have seen, in the 
Southern States, and yet southward of the most southern; being 
rarely found in the winter northward, or in the summer south¬ 
ward, of the Carolinas. 

The great multitude breed far to the northward, not only of 
the United States, but of the British Provinces, in the vast marshy 
tracts which extend inland nearly to the Arctic Ocean. Many, 
however, make their nests and rear their young in the secluded 
morasses of Maine, Nova Scotia, and New Brunswick; and a 
few pairs, here and there throughout the Eastern and Middle 
States, becoming less frequent as they advance toward the South, 
so far probably as the north of Pennsylvania. 

In Western Canada, in the neighborhood of Amherstberg, they 
are likewise found during the breeding season, and probably on 
the southern verge of the Great Lakes likewise. 

They are, however, with us, from New Jersey eastward, 
essentially a sprmg and autumn passing visitant; and this is their 
character so far northward as Quebec. In New Brunswick and 





138 


FRANK FORESTER^ FIELD SPORTS. 


Nova Scotia they may perhaps be regarded as a summer resident, 
though I am persuaded that their numbers, even there, in the 
spring and autumn, will be found vastly to exceed the tale of 
those which remain and rear their young. Throughout the 
Southern and Western country they are, on the contrary, winter 
residents. 

Now the shooting of these birds in spring, as they are either 
pairing here preparatory to breeding, or moving northward pre¬ 
paratory to pairing, or even actually breeding—as is the case 
when they are shot in May—is precisely what it would be to 
shoot Woodcock in February, March, and April, or Quail so late 
as to the middle of May ; the destruction of the breeders, and con¬ 
sequent diminution of the number of the next year’s young, being 
the same in both cases. The American Snipe lays four eggs; 
the death, therefore, of every Snipe during spring shooting is 
equivalent to the death of five of these beautiful and sporting 
little birds. 

This, one would suppose, would be conclusive against the 
practice; but if he venture to break ground in favor of the abo¬ 
lition by law of this unfair, and I must think, unsportsmanlike 
practice, he is met and silenced by some such exquisite reason as 
this—that if spring Snipe-shooting were prohibited, we should 
have no spring shooting at all; and the same exquisite reason is 
adduced against the only step which can save the Woodcock 
from extermination, I mean the abolition of summer cock¬ 
shooting. 

To return, however, to spring Snipe-shooting, as it is. 

So soon as the spring is fairly broken, and the frost—to use 
a common phrase—entirely out of the ground, the Snipe 
begins to appear upon our meadows. This breaking of the 
spring, and disappearance of the subterranean frost is, as is well 
known, very uncertain as regards the time of its occurrence. 
Sometimes, particularly when the winter has been continuous and 
severe, spring comes upon us suddenly and remains permanent— 
with no cold squalls and nipping frosts intermediate—increasing 
still into perfect summer. At other times, most frequently when 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


139 


the winter has been uncertain open and variable, and when the 
months of January and February have been, as was the case in 
1843, unusually mild and genial, there is, as it were, no spring 
at all, winter lingering into the lap of June. In the year above 
mentioned, the ground was white with snow in Philadelphia on 
the first of that month. 

In the former of these two kinds of spring, the Snipe compose 
themselves for a long sojourn, lie well to the dog, grow very fat 
and lazy, and defer their departure till the weather becomes so 
warm and dry as to render their migration a matter of necessity. 
As an example of this, in the spring of 1836 I drove from New 
York into Orange county, on the 10th of April, in a sleigh, over 
deep snow; and, within a week afterward, and thence up to the 
10th of June, shot Snipe in abundance in New Jersey, both at 
Chatham and Pine Brook, on the Passaic. 

In the latter there is sometimes no spring shooting at all; the 
birds merely alighting in whisps or small parties, from five to 
twenty in number, remaining a single day, and then off again 
Northward, with no tarrying. 

For several years, latterly, spring Snipe-shooting has been so 
indifferent, that few sportsmen have followed it, and that the mar¬ 
kets have been badly supplied. 

The arrival, however, of the Snipe in New Jersey—in South¬ 
ern New York there is little good Snipe-ground—varies from the 
tenth of March, which is the earliest date at which I have ever 
seen them plentiful on the Upland meadows, to the fifteenth of 
April. If they have not arrived at the latter of these dates, it 
may generally be taken for granted, that the year will have no 
spring Snipe-shooting. 

It must be observed that obtaining great sport in spring Snipe¬ 
shooting must always, to those who do not reside immediately on 
the ground, be more or less a matter of good fortune; since it is 
not above once, in five or six years, that these birds come on and 
stajr under such favorable circumstances, as cause them to settle, as 
it is termed, to the ground ; and, when this is not the case, succes¬ 
sive flights arriving, tarrying for a few days and passing onward 


140 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


it is very possible that a stranger, coming from a distance to shoot 
will find the meadows which were yesterday alive with Snipe, 
entirely deserted, and vice versa. 

Still there are signs and tokens both of the weather and of the 
animal creation—temperatures of the former and coincidences of 
the latter—by which the observant sportsman may come at con¬ 
clusions, even at a distance from his ground, and seldom errone¬ 
ously, concerning the arrival and sojourn of Snipe. 

And again, the birds have habits and haunts, during various 
aspects and sudden changes of weather, a thorough knowledge of 
which will enable one sportsman to fill his bag, while another on 
the same ground shall make up his mind in despair, that there are 
no Snipe on the meadows. 

There is no bird whose habits I have studied more closely than 
those of the Snipe, more especially during his vernal visit to our 
part of the country, for w^hich my residence, nearly adjoining the 
very finest Snipe-ground, as I believe it even yet to be, in the world, 
has given me great facilities ; and I have it in my power to point 
out one or two peculiarities—tending, by the way, more com¬ 
pletely to distinguish it from the European species—which have 
escaped the observation of our great American naturalists, Wilson 
and Audubon. 

I have, moreover, shot them from Delaware southward, to 
Quebec, in the north; and from the Niagara River to the coun¬ 
try about the Penobscot; so that I have not been without oppor 
tunity of becoming acquainted in some degree with their habits, 
throughout the whole geographical area of their spring and 
autumn migration; and here I would state, though with much 
deference, as becomes one differing from so high an authority, 
that neither in this nor in any other of our migratory birds of 
Game is there so much difference with regard to the time of their 
arrival and departure within the limits I have named, as Mr. 
Audubon would make. 

That eloquent writer and accurate observer, states the arrival 
of this bird to be a month later, varying with the season, in 
Maine than in Pennsylvania j and ten days later yet in Nova 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


141 


Scotia Now I am satisfied that, unless when the winter is ex¬ 
tremely short and spring unusually warm and early to the West¬ 
ward, this discrepancy is greatly overrated. 

The average commencement of Snipe-shooting, even in Dela¬ 
ware, is not earlier, I am convinced, than the first of April; and, 
except in uncommonly early seasons, they appear almost simulta¬ 
neously in New Jersey and New York. Early in April, I have 
shot these birds in abundance close to the Falls of Niagara; early 
in April I have shot them in Maine; and at the end of that same 
month, I have shot them on the upland pastures around Quebec. 

On average seasons, that is to say seasons in which the spring 
is everywhere late and backward, I have found by my own ob¬ 
servation, that the arrival both of the Woodcock and of the Snipe 
is nearly simultaneous, from Pennsylvania to Maine, and I believe 
on enquiry such will prove to be the case. 

This is, however, except as a matter of curiosity, tending to 
throw light on the breeding seasons of our bird in various places, 
and so to enable us to legislate with most advantage for his pre¬ 
servation, a matter of small importance ; for, from the moment 
of his arrival in each several locality, until that of his departure, 
he is incessantly persecuted and pursued ; and, as the causes of 
his arrival are the same in all places, so will, I apprehend, be the 
signs of his coming also. 

The next observation that I would make in this place, is to 
guard the sportsman, in the United States and Canada, from 
placing the slightest reliance on the maxims, advice or opinions 
promulgated, even in the best sporting books published in Eng¬ 
land, concerning the Snipe, or its congener the Woodcock. 

The birds are in every respect different from the European 
species, as to their habits, haunts and seasons; and one point of 
difference alone is sufficient to render all that is laid down with 
regard to the manner of hunting them there, entirely useless 
here. There they are winter, here more or less summer, birds of 
passage; so that the localities which they frequent in the two 
hemispheres are of course nearly opposite. 

Not an English book but will tell you, and tell you truly, as 


342 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


regards the English Snipe, that the most favorable weather for 
the sport is dark, blowing, drizzling days—the very worst con¬ 
ceivable for our bird ; which is apt to be as wild as a Hawk in 
windy weather, while it will sometimes lie till it is difficult to 
kick it up, on bright, warm, sunny days, with the wind southerly. 
But of this anon. 

In the first place, observe, as regards the arrival of Snipe on 
the meadows, that it matters not how fair and mild and warm 
the weather may be, or may have been for many days, overhead, 
not a bird will be found until the subterranean frost and ice have 
been entirely dissipated ; which is rarely the case until after a 
three days’ storm of rain, with a stiff easterly blow, succeeded by 
soft, spring-like weather. 

It must here be remarked that, in morasses and bog meadows, 
whether fresh or salt, the underground frost lasts much longer 
unthawed than it does on the uplands. In one instance, I re¬ 
member finding all the meadows as hard as ice below some six 
inches of soft mud, when the frost had disappeared for many 
days on the uplands, and when the progress of spring was evident 
in the bursting buds and springing grass. Of course not a bird 
was to be found. 

The first of the winged harbingers of spring is the beautiful 
little Blue-Bird; and so soon as he has taken up his residence 
with us, and commenced cleaning out his accustomed-box, or pre¬ 
paring materials for his nest in the hole of a decayed apple-tree, 
we may be sure that the Snipe is not far distant. When the 
buds of the willow trees display their yellowish verdure, and the 
chirping croak of the frogs rises from every swampy pond, we 
may feel confident that he is to be found on the meadows ; but 
not until the Shad is abundant at the mouths of our rivers, is the 
Snipe plentiful on the inland morasses. 

On his first arrival, he generally hangs for two or three days 
in small whisps, or, oftener yet, scattered individually, along the 
salt meadows on the coast, especially in places where fresh 
springs boil up from the ground, or spring-brooks trickle down 
from the upland. 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


143 


At such times, a few straggling birds may be picked up on 
the south side of Long Island, where the trout-streams, below 
the pond-dams, overflow the salt meadows, before a solitary 
Snipe has appeared inland. Then the salt marshes about the 
mouths of the Raritan, the Hackensac, and the Passaic, attract 
them in turn for a few days ; after which they gradually ascend 
the courses of those streams to the great tracts of morass and 
bog-meadow, which are spread out for leagues, the very Para¬ 
dise of the Snipe-shooter, especially about the last-named river. 

Here, if the weather is favorable and settled, they remain for 
many weeks ; and may be pursued with much success and sport, 
by the skilful sportsman, whatever may be the nature of the day, 
unless it has been preceded by a very sharp frost. 

The most favorable time is, undoubtedly, the first fine warm 
day after a long, easterly rain-storm ; and, so thoroughly am I 
convinced of this fact, that for many seasons, while resident in 
New York, it was my habit to order my horses, and set out on 
the third day of a north-eastern storm, if the sky showed the 
slightest prospect of clearing, before the rain had in the least 
abated. It has more than once happened to me, thus setting off 
late in the evening, while it was yet raining, to see the sky gra¬ 
dually clear up, and to hear the shrill squeak of the Snipe travel¬ 
ling overhead faster than myself, though in the same direction, 
before reaching my shooting-ground, scarce twenty miles distant; 
and I have been amply rewarded for mj r trouble by an excellent 
and undisturbed day’s sport, over meadows well stocked with 
birds, and as yet virgin of gunners. 

In such cases, it will often, however, happen that the weather 
on the one or more days which can be spared for shooting, proves 
wild, windy and unfavorable ; yet the sportsman who has trav¬ 
elled from a distance must take it as he finds it—if he reside on 
the spot he can, and of course will, pick his own days ; which, it 
he be wise, will be those soft, moist, silvery mornings, which so 
often follow slight hoar-frosts, when the heaven is covered with 
the thinnest filmy haze, through which the sunbeams are poured 
down warm but mellow, and when there is just enough of low 
VOL. i. 12 


144 


FRANK FORESTER^ FIELD SPORTS. 


southerly wind abroad to dry the herbage and to give the dogs a 
chance of scenting their game. 

As the stranger cannot thus choose, it is ulost important that 
he should know how to make the best of bad circumstances ; for 
even in the worst weather, if there be birds at all upon his range, 
knowing his ground and the habits of his bird, he will be able, 
nine times out of ten, to make a fair day’s work. 

I once shot three successive days over the Long Meadow, 
Lewises, the Troy and Parsippany Meadows, from Pine Brook, 
with a friend, in the very worst weather I ever saw for Snipe¬ 
shooting—dry, keen, cutting north-easters, with the dust flying 
one half hour, and the sun shining clear but cold, and hailstones 
pelting down the next. The birds were, of course, as wild as 
can be imagined ; drumming high up in the air, and performing 
all kinds of unusual antics ; yet, by dint of good dogs, desperate 
fagging, and a perfect knowledge of our ground, we picked up 
sixty-two couple of Snipe, besides a few Duck, in the course 
of three days. 

No great work, it is true, nor much to boast of; but, mark me 
now —during those same three days, two. other gentlemen, as good 
shots as ourselves, perhaps better, beat the same meadows, put¬ 
ting up at the rival tavern, and hunting so exactly the same line 
of country with ourselves, that we met and conversed with them 
more than once each day. These gentlemen bagged, in all, 
eleven Snipe and a Sandpiper; and that for the simplest reason 
imaginable—they did not know where to look for Snipe in wild 
weather, while we did. 

It is, of course, unnecessary to tell any person acquainted with 
the first elements of Shooting, that the Snipe feeds, not on suc¬ 
tion, but on small worms and other insects, which he collects by 
boring in moist earth with his long sensitive bill. His favorite 
feeding-grounds are, therefore, soft, sloppy tracts, where the soil 
is rich vegetable loam, or bog-earth, interspersed with springs, 
and sparsely covered with low, succulent grasses ;—earth, from 
the surface of which the waters have recently subsided, and on 
which a muddy, rust-colored scum has been deposited, on their 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


145 


subsidence or evaporation, abounds with food of the kind they 
most relish ; and in such places they are often seen to feed. But 
in such, as the ground is either bare or but sparsely covered, they 
will rarely lie, so as to afford sport, until late in the season, w'hen 
the young grass has acquired some height—when the sun has 
gained power, and repose and epicurean habits have rendered the 
Snipe tame and lazy. 

If, however, we can find ground such as I have described, inter¬ 
spersed with tussocky bogs and tufts of long grass, affording shelter 
to the birds, into which they will run, and among which they 
will skulk in ordinary weather, so soon as they discover the ap¬ 
proach of intruders, the chance of sport will be very considerable. 

In cold, dry winds, however, the birds will not even feed , 
much less lie to the dog, on such ground ; and consequently we 
must in such weather look for them in very different places; 
places, indeed, in which no books of natural history, that I know, 
would lead us to seek them, and in some of which the authori¬ 
ties tell us they are never to be found. 

But, to proceed in order; the Snipe when flushed never rises 
down wind, the resistance of the air appearing to be necessary to 
enable him to get under way. On his first rising, which he does 
for the most part about breast-high, he hangs on the air a little, 
before he gathers wing, and then darts away up wind, if possible, 
if not, across wind, tack and tack, with extreme rapidity, and 
with a zig-zag flight, which renders them puzzling objects to a 
beginner. I think, however, that to a person accustomed to their 
motions, they are as easy a bird to kill as any that flies. Mr. 
Audubon states, in allusion to this supposed difficulty of killing 
Snipe, that he who can kill thirty in succession, without missing 
one, is a good hand at any kind of shooting. I suppose Mr. 
Audubon is speaking ironically; for if by can kill , he means 
habitually , or even frequently kills , he speaks of an impossibility. 
No man ever lived who could kill , in that sense, either thirty 
Snipe, or thirty of any other bird that flies, in succession. I 
have seen many crack shots in my life, both here and in Eng¬ 
land ; but I never saw the man, and never expect to see him, 


146 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


who, shooting at every bird that rises in distance, can kill four out 
of five under the most favorable circumstances, day in and day 
out. He who bags three out of five, in covert and out of covert, 
from March Snipe to December Quail, is a top-sawyer; and 
can hold his own anywhere, and against any one. 

Some men may perhaps kill twenty shots in succession, picked 
out of fifty birds which ought to have been shot at; but my word 
for it, they will get easily beaten by the man who pretends to no 
such feat, but who pulls his trigger, whenever there is a chance 
of killing. 

The real test of shooting, no less than of sportsmanship, is the 
finding and bagging the greatest number of birds within a given 
time, without the smallest reference to the number of shots fired. 

The surest of all ways to ensure the never becoming a good 
shot, is to be afraid of missing. Shoot at everything that rises 
within distance, remembering always, as an old Yorkshire game- 
keeper, by whose side I bagged my first Snipe some eight-and- 
twenty years ago, was wont to admonish me, that t’ Snaipe was 
i’t’ maist danger. If you miss, say with Jacob Faithful, “bet¬ 
ter luck next time,” and endeavor to observe and remember how 
and why you missed him ; whether you shot above, below, or to 
the right or left of him; this will give you steadiness and cool¬ 
ness at first; and, when you succeed in remembering, will have 
done much already toward preventing you from missing fair 
shots at least. For the rest, birds will dodge, at times, just when 
the trigger is drawn ; boughs will be in the way; the sun will 
shine in the face of the best shots—moreover, the steadiest nerves 
will sometimes be shaken or unstrung, and the quickest finger 
will be a thumb on some days to the best sportsman. 

I know a right good shot, and a good sportsman too, and a 
good friend of mine to boot, who does not pretend to kill quite 
three out of five, year in and year out; but who is wont to say, 
which is very wrong of him, though I believe perfectly true, that 
he’ll be d—d if he can’t beat any man, who can kill twenty shots 
in succession. 

Sc much for thine encouragement, my young beginner 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


147 


Good shots have killed twenty shots in succession ; perhaps 
more, even in thick covert; but that is a very different thing 
from saying can kill them. That, I am satisfied no man ever 
did, nor ever will do. 

This, though applicable especially to Snipe, is true of all sorts 
of Game. After the observation, which has led me to this little 
digression, Mr Audubon remarks that he has found the best 
moment for pulling the trigger on a Snipe, to be that in which 
he utters his peculiar shrill squeak ; and in this I perfectly agree 
with him ; for the Snipe utters that cry as he rises , and before he 
gathers way ; and I am convinced that the most killing way to 
shoot this bird, is to shoot at him during the instantaneous point 
of time in which he hangs on the wind—that is to say, to pull 
the trigger the very instant the butt of your gun touches your 
shoulder. 

The old school method was to wait till the bird had done 
twisting, and was at some forty yards distance; but all that 
stuff, like taking a pinch of snuff after a bird rises and before 
raising the gun, was well enough for the days of long, single- 
barrelled guns with flint locks. A good shot of the present day 
would knock over his dozen couple of right and left shots—not 
in succession, gentle reader—while one of those slow coaches 
was painfully picking up his half dozen. Cceteris paribus, the 
quickest shot is the best shot. 

Another maxim of the samp age and the same school is, that 
the best dog over which to shoot Snipe is an old broken-down, 
6low Pointer—perhaps he is for a pot-hunter! Indeed, I be¬ 
lieve, nine times out of ten, as many birds, perhaps more , 
could be bagged without a dog at all; or with a Newfoundland 
or Water Spaniel, kept entirely at heel, and only used to retrieve 
the dead or cripples; but where would be the sport of such 
slow gunning ? 

The best dogs for Snipe are the best dogs that can be got for 
money—the bravest, fastest, most industrious, and best broken— 
Setters, for my use, seeing that I prefer them for all purposes ; 
but Pointers, if you will. 


148 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


If they be staunch, and have good noses, and back well, and 
drop to shot, where they are, without stirring from the spot, and 
without being shouted at, they cannot be too fast; and, if they 
will not do these things, it matters not w hether they be fast or 
slow—they are worthless. 

The most effective-sized shot for Snipe shooting is unquestion¬ 
ably No. 8. With coarser shot, the charge will be so much 
dispersed that so small a bird as the Snipe will constantly 
escape being hit, even when covered fairly; with smaller, 
birds will continually be wounded only, within point blank 
distance; and will frequently go away entirely unharmed. 
Farther than this, it is very rare to find a lever-topped belt or 
flask—which is by far the best implement for carrying shot— 
that will not suffer any shot smaller than No. 8 to escape, even 
when the spring is down. 

Many English writers, I observe, recommend the use of two 
different sized kind of shot, one in either barrel; but this is, in 
my opinion, neither sportsmanlike nor effective. In all events, 
the barrels of a gun ought to be fired alternately; otherwise, 
as five single shots are fired for one double, one barrel will be 
worn out while the other is, comparatively speaking, new. My 
own experience has taught me that for all our Upland shooting, 
except that of the Pinnated Grouse, at all seasons of the year, 
No. S is the most effective shot. It will break the pinion of a 
Ruffed Grouse at fifty yards, and that is all that can be desired; 
and when fired from a close-shooting gun, properly brought to 
bear, will riddle its target thoroughly at the same distance. All 
that is gained in weight and power by the use of larger shot, is 
lost in the condensation of a charge. This will be easily under¬ 
stood when the reader is informed that an ounce of No. 8 shot 
contains six hundred grains, or pellets, while No. 7 contains but 
three hundred and forty-one; so that at the same distance 
with the same gun, the chances are nearly as two to one in 
favor of hitting a small mark with No. 8 over the larger shot; 
the greater the distance, the greater the advantage in this respect 
of the smaller pellets; inasmuch as all shot are propelled on 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


149 


diverging lines; and consequently, the longer the range the 
greater will be the interval between the grains. 

When birds are very wild, however, I strongly recommend 
the use of Eley’s wire cartridges, of the same No. 8 shot, which 
I consider an invention in gunnery second only to percussion 
I will state here briefly, for the benefit of those who have not 
seen this missile, that the object of the contrivance is to propel 
the charge, like a single ball, for some fifteen or more yards 
from the gun’s muzzle. After this distance the case bursts, and 
the shot diverges as in an ordinary charge. The gain, there¬ 
fore, in distance, is precisely that to which the case is driven 
unbroken. This differs in the three different kinds of cart¬ 
ridges, blue, red, and green. The last of these must never be 
used, except in fowl-shooting on the bays, as the range is pro¬ 
digious, and on Upland dangerous. The blue , which is the 
common kind, will increase the range of every gun, in close¬ 
ness as in strength, from fifteen to twenty yards; and the red 
from twenty to forty. The more heavily you charge with 
powder, the more closely will the cartridge carry ; the converse 
of this proposition being true of loose shot. 

It is useless, however, for any person to use Eley’s cartridge, 
who is not cool enough to let a bird, which gets up under his 
feet, go away twenty yards before firing at him; and who 
cannot shoot well enough to kill at forty, with an exceedingly 
close carrying gun. I have shot Snipe, when very wild, and 
Quail in open ground, very late in the season, with blue cart¬ 
ridges in my first, and red in my second barrel, and that with 
great success. I would, however, prefer the use of loose shot 
and a blue cartridge. 

With regard to dress, it may be well here to say a word or 
two ; for Snipe shooting is a difficult and dirty business, as far 
as the walking is concerned, and requires an athletic frame, 
and a hardy constitution. For my own part, I have never 
found any contrivance succeed in keeping the feet dry; for a 
single fall, or heavy splash, things of common occurrence, will 
fill the tops of the longest and most secure water-proof boots; 


150 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


Indian rubber is an abomination; as, if it excludes water, it 
also excludes air, prevents ventilation, and enclosing all the 
exudations and transpirations of the pores, is equally uncom¬ 
fortable, unwholesome, and filthy. The moment boots are full 
of water, they are a dead weight, and of course a disadvan¬ 
tage ; I have, therefore, in all ordinary ground, long abandoned 
the attempt to keep dry; and invariably use laced ancle boots 
of heavy cowhide, for all sorts of sporting. These may be worn 
either with short gaiters and trousers; or, what I consider 
in every particular superior, and especially in the facility they 
give to movement in encumbered ground, or among brushwood 
and stumps, knee-breeches, and leathern leggins, buttoned on 
the outside. The breeches may be made of corduroy or fus¬ 
tian for spring and winter, of duck or drilling for summer 
shooting ; and, if made long and loose from the hip to the knee, 
I believe no walker who has once adopted them in this climate 
will ever return to heavy boots and trousers. 

If, however, the Snipe-shooter is determined on endeavoring 
to keep himself dry, he had better provide himself with long 
boots from Canada, which he can procure, perfectly water¬ 
proof and of excellent quality, of any maker in Montreal or 
Quebec, for eight dollars a pair; whereas the same, not equal¬ 
ly well-made, would cost him double the price, in New-York 
I will here, farther state, that Mr. Cullen, No. 119 Broad¬ 
way, New-York, is the only workman on this side the Atlantic, 
whom I know, that can turn out a real-working-shooting-boot 
or shoe. 

If you adopt my plan, reader mine, you must make up your 
mind to get wet through in five minutes after going out, and to 
continue wet through, until your return home at night; but be¬ 
lieve me, as in many other cases, ce n’est que le ‘premier pas qui 
coute, the first shock is all that you have to dread; the water 
within the shoe immediately becomes warm, by contact with 
the foot, and you think no more about it, after five minutes j 
while in a long day’s fag the absence of the heavy, dragging 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


151 


water-logged jack-boots will make a difference in favor of your 
comforts, that words can hardly describe. 

About a shooting-jacket, I have only to say that it cannot be 
too easy, or have too many pockets. For material, every man 
has his own fancy; I prefer strong corduroy for winter, and 
drilling or Russia duck for summer. Game-pockets filling the 
whole inside of both skirts will be found to carry a large bag 
with much less exertion to the sportsman, than the ordinary 
game-bag. 

A low-crowned, broad-brimmed hat is as good for open shoot¬ 
ing as any other head gear ; but for covert work, a close skull¬ 
cap, with a long peak, is the thing. 

The best preparation for keeping boots, or leathern leggins, 
soft, is currier's dubbing , which can be procured of any tanner. 
The best water dressing is equal parts of tar, tallow, and Venice 
turpentine, melted together in an earthen pipkin, and brushed 
slowly and gradually into the leather, before a slow fire, with a 
painter’s sash-tool. This should be repeated every time the 
boots are used ; and it is well to observe that sun-heat is far su 
perior to fire-heat for the drying of wet boots ; and that it 
is scarcely possible to dry saturated leather too slowly. 

These short memoranda, with regard to dress, will do once 
for all; they are equally applicable to all seasons and sports, 
and I am not aware that anything more of real advantage could 
be said in a volume on this subject. 

Now fully equipped with all things necessary for our sport, 
we will take the field ; and supposing the morning to be favor 
able, with a light breeze from the south-westward, the sky sunny, 
yet shadowed by floating clouds, the herbage underfoot dry , but 
the soil moist and succulent, we may make sure of sport. 

In the first place we will begin to beat, and persist in beating 
our ground down-wind , even if we have to make a large and te 
dious circuit in order to do so. The advantage of this, arising 
from the habit of the Snipe, before mentioned, of rising invaria¬ 
bly up-wind, is that the wild birds will be compelled to cross us 


162 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


to the right or left, affording much closer and easier shots, than 
if we hunt them in the ordinary manner. 

I am aware that there is an objection to this, in the fact that 
the dogs in some degree lose the favor of the wind ; but dogs, 
properly broken to this sport, should quarter their ground regu¬ 
larly before you, working with their noses up-wind, and cross¬ 
ing and recrossing at every forty or fifty yards, and will find no 
difficulty in pointing such birds as will lie to them. 

It is wonderful how easily dogs, which are always shot over 
by the same man—he being one who knows his business—will 
learn to cross and requarter their ground, turning to the slight¬ 
est whistle, and following the least gesture of the hand. I have 
seen old dogs turn their heads to catch their master’s eye, if 
they thought the whistle too long deferred ; and I lately lost an 
old red Irish setter, which had been stone-deaf for his two last 
seasons, but which I found no more difficulty in turning than 
any other dog, so accurately did he know when to look for the 
signal. 

When a dog has once learned that it is by his master’s will, 
and not by his own, that he is to beat his ground, it is extraor¬ 
dinary how eagerly he will consult, and how readily he will soon 
come to perceive, his pleasure. 

I have repeatedly tested the two modes of shooting Snipe, up 
and down wind ; and that with dogs of all kinds and conditions, 
and I have no hesitation in declaring my conviction, that by work¬ 
ing down-wind , especially in very wild and very windy weather, 
when birds lie the worst, one-third more shots may be got, and 
double the number of birds killed, than by giving your dogs, as 
it is called, the wind in their noses. In the latter mode, it is 
true, you will have your dogs continually drawing, and perhaps 
pointing, and will have the satisfaction of hearing the “ scaipe y 
scaipe ,” of bird after bird, as he rises out of distance, and of 
seeing him zig-zagging it away up-wind, at a rate which sets 
even your blue cartridge at defiance. 

Beating down-wind, on the contrary, the birds, headed by 
yourself and your dog, are likely enough to get confused and 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


153 


bothered, and to lie hard; and even if your setter or pointer do 
run in upon two or three, in a day’s shooting, the odds are, as 
Snipe-shooting is always more or less snap shooting, that you 
will get a long cross shot at these, and perhaps bag them ; and, 
at all events, for every bird you lose thus, you will lose four 
which will whistle away unshot at, dead in the wind’s eye, if 
you beat up-wind. 

I had once an actual trial of this kind accidentally, and on my 
part unconsciously, with a rather famous English dog-breaker 
and market shooter, on the Big Piece, a superb and very exten¬ 
sive tract of Snipe-meadow, just above the Little Falls, on the 
Passaic, the result of which I will mention as tending to exem¬ 
plify the fact I have been insisting on. 

I did not at the time know this fellow, though subsequently I 
have known him to my cost; though I afterwards heard that he 
was acquainted with my person, and had made some small bet, 
or other, on beating my bag; which, but for his want of know¬ 
ledge on this point, he would have done, for I believe he is a 
better shot, and he had decidedly better dogs than I on that day; 
the best of which became mine in consequence. 

It was a very wild morning, indeed, early in April, the wind 
blowing almost a gale from the westward ; and immediately oil 
entering the meadow, I perceived a v man in a black velveteen 
jacket, with three veiy fine dogs, one the red setter I have 
named before, beating up-wind at some three hundred yards 
distant. I set to work after my own way, and so we perse¬ 
vered all day long, he beating up, and I down wind, often within 
a hundred yards’ distance. There were a great many birds on 
the ground, and I had very fair shooting, getting at least three 
shots to his two, and those much fairer shots ; in proof of which 
I may observe, that I killed three or four double shots during 
the day, while he did not fire one. At about four in the after¬ 
noon we parted company, not having interchanged speech, and 
I thought no more about him until I returned to mine inn, when I 

learned that D-had called to inquire how many birds I had 

killed, and expressed his wonder that a person who, as he was 



154 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


flattering enough to say, did know something about shooting, 
should be such a flat as to shoot Snipe down-wind. In the even¬ 
ing he came into the bar-room, and there found, first of all, that 
I had beaten him by some half-dozen birds, which he said he 
expected ; and, secondly, that it was for a reason, and not for 
the want of one, that I shot Snipe down-wind. He admitted at 
once, that he saw throughout the day that I was getting more 
and better shots than he, whereat he marvelled, seeing he knew 
himself better dogged than I ; but that he still marvelled why 
I should shoot down-wind. He was, however, open to convic¬ 
tion, and was, perhaps, not sorry at having a reason to give for 
being beaten. 

Double shots at Snipe are by no means uncommon—com¬ 
moner, I think, than at any other species of game—for although, 
as a general rule, the snipe is a solitary bird, both in his habits 
of flight and feeding, and acts independently of his neighbors, 
you will usually find numbers of them feeding nearly together, 
and rising nearly at the same time, because alarmed by the same 
sound. Under these circumstances, however, they do not usu¬ 
ally fly off together, like a bevy of quail, or a plump of wild 
fowl, but scatter, each at his own will. Now as the wildest 
birds always spring first, it often happens that your discharge, at 
a long shot, flushes another much nearer by; I therefore strongly 
urge it on beginners to be a little patient, and not to blaze away 
both barrels in succession at the same bird, or even at two birds, 
nearly out of distance, since by doing so they will very often 
lose a good chance of bagging a bird close at hand. 

It is, moreover, a very absurd and unsportsmanlike practice 
to fire at Snipe out of shot, yet it is a very common one. The 
Snipe is a very small bird, and offers, particularly when flying 
directly from the shooter, an inconceivably small target. It is 
not possible that one can be killed, with anything like certainty, 
at above fifty yards,—I name an extreme limit. Now, in ordi¬ 
nary weather, the odds are about three to one, that a bird flushed, 
and not uselessly shot at, at this distance, will alight again with¬ 
in three or four hundred yards, or upward, and perhaps afford 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


155 


a good chance, and lie to a point. But blaze at him, and per¬ 
haps sting him with a stray shot, and he shall fly you a mile at a 
stretch ; besides that, your shot has disturbed the meadow, and 
perhaps flushed half-a-dozen others. Let it not be supposed, 
however, that I would inculcate slow and poking shooting; on 
the contrary I abhor it. 

The most unsportsmanlike thing that a man can do, in this 
line, is not to fire at a bird, when there is a reasonable chance of 
killing it ; the next, is to fire at a bird when there is not a rea¬ 
sonable chance of killing it. 

Snipe-shooting being practised ninety-nine times out of a 
hundred in perfectly open ground, the birds can be marked by 
an experienced hand at the work, to a great distance, and to a 
great nicety. But there is a good deal of knack in it ; and I 
hardly ever saw a countryman, who did not shoot, who did mark 
even decently. An ordinary observer, when he loses sight of a 
bird flying low, is apt to suppose he has stopped at the point 
where he last saw him, a conclusion than which nothing can be 
more erroneous. 

Every bird has his own fashion of alighting from the wing, 
and that of the Snipe and Woodcock is very peculiar; they both 
jerk themselves a little way up into the air, make a short turn, 
and pitch down backward. Once noticed, this motion cannot 
be mistaken ; and once made, you may be sure that the bird 
has dropped. All that remains to be done is to mark the place, 
so as to find it again, which in an expanse of open pasture or 
meadow-land, waving with even grass, or covered with tufts of 
rushes, each one precisely like its neighbor, is far from an easy 
matter. The better way is to raise the eye slowly from the spot 
toward the horizon—in case the ground is quite devoid of any 
near landmark of stump, bush, pool, or the like—where you will 
be nearly sure to find some tree, building, hill-top, or other emi¬ 
nent object, which you may bring into one line with your bird, 
after which you will have no difficulty in finding him. 

In marking dead birds within a near range, you should ever 
endeavor to fix the very leaf, or branch, or bunch of grass, on 


156 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


which it has fallen ; and I have found it a good plan, on step¬ 
ping up after loading to look for your game, to drop your hat, 
or handkerchief, on that which you conceive to be the exact 
spot ; otherwise, while looking round among the grass, it is not 
uncommon to lose the direction altogether. In covert shooting, 
in marking a bird, whether shot at or not, which flies behind a 
orake, impervious to the sight, cast your eye quickly forward to 
the next opening, a little above the line of the bird’s flight, if he 
is rising, or below, if dropping on the wing, to make sure that 
he does not pass it. If a killed bird is hidden from you by the 
smoke of your own fire, and you perceive by the stream of fea¬ 
thers that he is dead, allow a little for the speed and direction 
of his flight, which, if he was going fast when struck, will often 
throw him many feet forward of the spot where the shot smote 
him. The shot itself, if close by and hard hit, will at times pitch 
him a yard or two out of his course. 

A Snipe will sometimes, but not generally, carry away a good 
many shot; but when he does so, if marked down, he almost in¬ 
variably rises again. Neither he nor his congener, the Wood¬ 
cock, is in the habit—so common with the Quail, and sometimes 
with the Ruffed Grouse—of flying away with his death-wound 
and dying before he falls. A Quail or Grouse, shot through the 
heart, or through the brain, will constantly tower, as it is termed, 
directly up into the mid-air, with a perpendicular flight, and 
quick beating of the wings, which are kept up till he vital spark 
leaves the bird literally in the air, when it turns over on its back, 
and falls like a stone. In windy weather many Quail are lost 
thus, drifting out of reach ; but I never saw this occur with a 
Woodcock, and never but once with a Snipe, which then only 
flirted up a few feet, with an expiring effort. 

When, therefore, a Snipe goes away hard hit, mark him care¬ 
fully, and approach the spot stealthily,—it is all a toss-up whe¬ 
ther he lies like a stone, or whirls up at sixty paces, when he 
hears you coming. But however hard he may lie, never relax 
your watchfulness, or put your gun under your arm, or over 
your shoulder, till he is bagged. I have seen a crippled bird 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


157 


marked to a square yard, get away, owing to the conviction of 
the pursuers that he was dead, after the ground had been beaten 
to and fro by a brace of capital dogs, and trampled all over by 
as many men ; and I should like to know what can be more pro- 
voking than such a consummation. 

For Snipe shooting, the most effective party that I can con¬ 
ceive, will consist of two men, provided that they are sufficiently 
well acquainted each with the other’s style of shooting and hunt¬ 
ing dogs, to work well together,—and two dogs, both belonging 
to and hunted by one man. In this case the sportsman can 
hunt their dogs alternate days, he whose turn it is not to hunt, 
carefully abstaining from uttering a word, or making a gesture 
to the dogs. 

This, of course, can be only done by two old sportsmen, who 
know each the other’s style of sporting, and will consent to 
give and take mutually something. 

The advantage gained is this, that a brace of dogs, used to 
one another, knowing one another’s ways, and accustomed to 
work and live together, will do twice as much , and five times 
as good work, as a pair of strangers, jealous, and very likely 
broken in to different styles of action. 

No two men hunt their dogs precisely alike,—and, conse¬ 
quently, no two strange dogs, hunted by two different strange 
men, can or will work harmoniously together. If each man in¬ 
sists on hunting his own dog each day, the men will have bet¬ 
ter sport by hunting singly. But, in my opinion, one man 
wants a brace of dogs in the field,—and yet a brace of dogs are 
enough for two men. When the number exceeds two guns, 
for Snipe shooting, by far the better way is to divide into two 
parties, beating, if you please, in sight each of the other, and so 
driving the birds backward and forward,—but, not sufficiently 
near to allow the dogs to mix, or become jealous. 

The difficulty of getting dogs accustomed to different styles 
of sporting, to work well together, will be evident at once, if 
we consider that one sportsman trains his dog to drop to shot, 
where he is when the shot is fired ; another, to come in beforo 


158 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SFORTS. 


charging ; that one insists on his dog pointing his dead birds 
before fetching them ; another suffers his to go on and fetch as 
soon as he has loaded ; and yet a third takes no heed at all, but 
suffers his brute to rush in as soon as the gun is discharged. 

The last is, of course, a barbarism, to which no one worthy 
of being called a sportsman will resort; the others are still held 
to be mooted points ; and there are sportsmen who hold to both. 
I do not myself admit any doubt on the subject; nor do I esteem 
any dog broken, which does not drop to charge, at the report, 
without stirring from the place,—which does not lie at charge, 
until ordered to “ hold up,” and which does not point his dead 
game, until desired to “ fetch.” Still, so long as diversity of 
opinion exists on these points, and dogs are broken according 
to the good or bad judgment of owners and breakers, different 
animals cannot be expected to hunt harmoniously together; and 
so unfortunate is the propensity both of men and beasts to 
learn evil more easily than good knowledge, that two or three 
days’ companionship with a rash, headstrong, rushing brute, 
will, it is likely, play the very deuce with your carefully broken 
dogs, and cause them to contract tricks, which it will cost you 
much pains and trouble to eradicate. 

It is so very common an occurrence, while in pursuit of spring 
Snipe, to find different kinds of Wild Duck, particularly the 
two varieties of Teal, the Wood Duck, the Mallard, and the 
Pintail, that it is well worth the while to cany a few red car¬ 
tridges of No. 1 or No. 2 shot,—Col. Hawker observing of 
these missiles, “ that for a wild open country, or shooting by 
day at wild fowl, he cannot say too much in their favor in 
their present improved state.” 

It is scarcely necessary to state here, that when two persons 
are shooting in company, neither must on any account think of 
firing at a bird which, however fairly it may rise to himself, 
flies across his companion. Each sportsman should take the 
bird which flies outwardly from the common centre ; by doing 
which he will not only avoid the incivility of shooting across his 
friend’s face, but will, in the long run, bring many more birds 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


169 


to bag ; for, without some such understanding, both charges 
will constantly be delivered into one bird, while others are going 
away unshot at. 

It is a most uncourteous and clownish fashion, that of shoot¬ 
ing across a companion’s face, if committed from ignorance only, 
or carelessness,—if done from jealousy, and a grasping desire 
cf making a larger bag, it is unpardonable and ungentleman- 
iike. A fellow who would do it, should he sent at once, nem. 
con *, to Coventry. 

The genuine sportsmen will always give, rather than take ■, 
and, even in the case of single birds flying forward in a direct 
line before two guns, the shot should always he yielded, espe¬ 
cially by the person who hunts the dogs, and who may be in 
some sort regarded as at home , and therefore bound to do the 
honors to his comrade. 

Where two persons shoot much together, it is well to take 
such shots alternately; and there is another advantage gained 
by this, as there is by the practice of all punctilios in sporting, 
that it tends to promote equanimity and coolness, without which 
nothing great can be effected in this line. 

So long as the weather holds fair, and the birds lie well to 
the dog, there remains, I believe, no more to be said on the 
subject. But it must be observed, that in wild, windy weather, 
early in the season, if we know that there are birds on the range, 
that they have been killed on the meadows in numbers, and for 
successive days, and that there have been no heavy frosts to ba¬ 
nish them from the district, they will be found, as I have before 
hinted, in haunts altogether different from their usual feeding 
ground. So soon, therefore, as it is evident that they are not to 
be found at all, or in anything like adequate numbers, on the 
meadows, it is advisable to turn your attention instantly to the 
skirts of the nearest woodlands, under sheltered leesides of 
young plantations, among willow, alder, and briar brakes, and, 
in short, wherever there is good soft springy feeding ground, 
perfectly sheltered, and protected from the wind by trees or 
shrubbery. 

VOL. i. 


13 


160 


FRANK FORESTER'S FIELD SPORTS. 


I first observed this habit of the American Snipe, which is ut¬ 
terly at variance with the habit of its European congener, at the 
English Neighborhood, on the Hackensack River, where, by 
mere accident, I stumbled on a number of birds in the cow- 
paths, among thick brushwood, far above the salt meadows, to¬ 
ward the Upland. I next found them in similar ground on a 
very wild day, at the end of March, or the beginning of April, 
on the Long Meadow at Pine Brook. On that occasion the 
birds were all busily employed in drumming,—a habit of the 
Snipe, as it is generally stated by naturalists, during the breed¬ 
ing season. I have myself, however, never witnessed it, except 
immediately on their arrival in this district, long before they had 
even begun to pair. The habit is, however, clearly connected 
with their nuptial and vernal propensities, and probably conti¬ 
nues from the commencement of their sexual intercourse, to the 
end of their incubation. It is performed, I believe, solely by 
the male bird, which rises in the air till he is almost out of sight, 
where he disports him for hours in mid ether, sailing round and 
round in small circles, and at times letting himself fall, fifty feet 
or more, plumb down, before he again sails on his wing. It is 
during these perpendicular descents, that this strange, powerful, 
and musical hum is uttered,—it is comparable to no other sound 
that I can name, and must be heard to be conceived. It is very 
pleasing and sonorous, and may be distinguished at a great dis¬ 
tance. Once heard, it can be mistaken for no other noise, made 
by either bird or beast,—nor will the sportsman be apt to for¬ 
get it, as it is to him strangely ill-omened ; for, while it is going 
on, birds will rarely or never suffer themselves to be approached 
within gunshot,—rising, as soon as flushed, spirally into the air, 
each seeming to call up another by the sound, and sporting to¬ 
gether aloft, “ whirling round each other,” to borrow the elo¬ 
quent language of Mr. Audubon, “ with extreme velocity, and 
dancing as it were to their own music ; for at this juncture, and 
during the space of five or six minutes, you hear rolling notes 
mingling together, each more or less distinct, perhaps according 
to the state of the atmosphere.” I was surprised to find that 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


161 


Mr. Audubon here states his doubts, whether this sound is pro¬ 
duced by the feathers of the wing,—or rather almost asserts his 
conviction that it is ventriloqous. I have lain on the turf for 
hours, watching them when in this mood, and when all farther 
attempt at pursuit of them would have been useless, and have 
observed their motions with a good glass. I am myself satis¬ 
fied that the sound is produced by the fact, that the bird, by 
some muscular action or other, turns the quill-feathers edgewise, 
as he drops plumb through the air; and that, while in this posi¬ 
tion, during his accelerated descent, the vibration of the feathers, 
and the passage of the air between them, gives utterance to this 
wild humming sound. 

Such likewise is the account given by European naturalists 
of the same sound which is produced by the Snipe there at the 
same vernal period ; they mention, moreover, a peculiar cry of 
the male bird at this season, different from his shrill squeak, on 
being flushed, which is precisely identical in the American and 
European species—this they describe as resembling the word 
“ Peet,” thrice repeated in a shrill whistle. This I never have 
noticed in the American birds; but, on two different occasions, 
when the birds were at the very wildest, drumming away for 
hours at a stretch, and not giving even a chance of a shot, I 
have observed another cry, which I cannot find recorded either 
by Wilson or Audubon, any more than the practice, by which 
it is accompanied, of alighting on fences, stumps, and even on 
tall tree-tops. 

This cry is a sharp, reiterated chatter, consisting of a quick, 
jarring repetition of the syllables, kek-kek-kek-kek-kek, many 
times in succession, with a rising and falling inflection, like that 
of a hen which has just laid an egg. This singular sound is 
uttered as the bird is descending from its gyrations and musical 
performances ; and, after having descended, while it is skim¬ 
ming low over the surface of the bog meadows, previous to 
alighting. While in this humor, I have never seen them alight 
directly into the grass, but have invariably observed them to set¬ 
tle first on the stump of a dead tree, or on a rail fence, and 


152 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


thereafter drop into the rushes. On both of these occasions, the 
birds lighted many times on the very topmost branches of the 
willows, and other trees, which lined the fences; and on one oc¬ 
casion, I saw a Snipe take flight from a branch, rise upward, 
and resume his drumming, without first returning to the level 
ground. 

On the day when I first witnessed these performances, which 
astonished me, I confess, little less than it would have done had 
they begun to sing “ God save the King,” or “ Hail Columbia,” 
which would perhaps have been more appropriate—I observed 
that when, at length, they ceased drumming, which they did as 
the day grew hotter, they all flew off in one direction, toward 
some meadows overrun with brakes, cat-briars, brambles and 
thorn bushes; and herein I had good sport with them for seve¬ 
ral hours, after having despaired, in the morning, of getting a 
shot at all. 

Since that time, I have repeatedly found them in similar 
ground at Chatham, yet higher up on the course of the Passaic, 
where there is a great deal of covert of that particular nature- 
low stunted bushes, and briar patches, growing in boggy, springy 
ground. So notoriously is it the case that Snipe, on their first 
coming, there frequent such localities, whenever the weather is 
not more than commonly warm and genial, that it is the habit 
of many old sportsmen to beat for them regularly in such places, 
without trying the meadows at all, on their first arrival. I have 
kitted hundreds of couples in such places; and have put up 
scores, at a small enumeration, of Woodcock, then sitting on their 
eggs , from the self-same coverts at the same time. Indeed, the 
same brakes, a little later in the season, afford the very best 
cock-shooting. Once, and once only, at the same place, Chat¬ 
ham, during a snow-squall, I shot several couple of Snipe in a 
very thick piece of swampy woodland, among tall timber-trees 
with heavy undercovert—precisely what one would call admi¬ 
rable summer Cock-ground—the Snipe flew in and out of the 
brakes, and thridded the branches, as rapidly as Quail or Cock 
would have done, in similar thickets. Wkat has happened 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


163 


once, especially in the ways of animals, is like to occur again ; 
and 1 should not hesitate, when there was no tract of low 
springy underwood near at hand to Snipe meadows, to beat 
high wet woodlands for this bird, during the permanence of 
cold storms and violent winds, sufficient to drive them from the 
open fields. At all events, let the sportsman remember that in 
the Middle and Eastern States, bushy ground, briar-patches, 
alder and willow brakes, and the like, are as regular haunts of 
Snipe in spring, as bog tussocks or marshy meadows; and that 
there is no more propriety in his omitting to try such ground 
for them, than there would be in neglecting to beat thickets and 
dingles for Quail, because they ordinarily feed on stubbles. 

While I am mentioning the peculiar habits of the American 
Snipe, such more particularly as it is not generally known to 
possess, I may observe that although not web-footed, or even 
semi-palmated, this little bird swims rapidly and boldly. I was 
previously aware that, on falling wing-tipped into the water, it 
was able to support itself, and even to struggle away from a 
dog ; but I had no idea that it would" take the water of its own 
accord, till I was a witness to the fact under rather singular 
circumstances. I was standing still, loading my gun, both bar¬ 
rels of which I had just discharged, on the brink of a broad 
spring-fed ditch which runs along the lower side of the Long 
Meadow, when a bird, flushed by a friend at some distance, 
flew over my head and dropped within ten feet of me, on a 
spot of bare black soil, between two or three large grassy tus¬ 
socks, and the ditch. I had never, at that time, observed the 
natural motions of the Snipe, when unalarmed; and I stood 
watching him, for some time, as he walked gracefully to and 
fro, and stooped down once or twice and bored in the mud, 
bringing up each time a small red angle-worm in his bill, utterly 
unconscious of my presence. After a minute or two, he delib¬ 
erately entered the ditch, and oared himself across it, as easily 
and far more gracefully than any water-fowl could have done. 
I have since regretted, that I did not show myself at this mo¬ 
ment, in order that I might have ascertained whether it pos- 


164 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


sessed the power of taking wing from the surface of water, 
which I am greatly inclined to doubt. I was well aware pre¬ 
viously of the fact, that many of the Shore-birds and Sand-, 
pipers swim on emergency, but I little suspected the Snipe of 
possessing the like power. 

I know not that the being acquainted with this habit of the 
Snipe can materially aid the sportsman; but, in case of dogs 
drawing on the trail of birds, which had run and fed, up to a 
brook-side, or on the foot of a wing-tipped bird, I should now 
certainly try forward, across the water, which I should not pre¬ 
viously have done. 

The peculiarities of cry, flight, and perching, which I have 
related above, are well known to many of our sportsmen here; 
and I can readily produce half-a-dozen witnesses to the various 
facts I have stated, within a dozen miles of the room in which 
I am now writing; as well as to the bird’s occasional habit of 
resorting to the interior of woods, which Mr. Audubon positive¬ 
ly asserts that he never does. 

By the way, since penning the above, it just strikes me that 
in the Spring of 1840, when the snow was not entirely off the 
Uplands, in shooting with a friend from Quebec, we moved three 
Snipe from a little piece of white-birch woodland, one of which 
was shot by my companion, and retrieved by my setter in the 
bushes, and a second of which I killed over a point in the next 
field, not very far from Lorette. 

I am inclined to believe all these habits to be purely local , 
as concerns the American bird. Not local, owing to any 
peculiar circumstance of the place, but of the seasons in which 
the bird visits or frequents the places. In other words, I sup¬ 
pose them all to be connected with the amorous and sexual 
intercourse of the birds, and to commence and terminate with 
the breeding season. 

In the summer, when I have shot a few young birds during 
Cock-shooting, and in the autumn when I have killed five 
times as many as I have in spring, I never heard any cry from 
the Snipe except the regular “ scaipe nor have I ever seen 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


165 


it manifest the slightest inclination to alight on fence, rail, log 
or tree. I therefore, suppose these habits to be, like drumming, 
peculiar to the season, and analogous to the circling and strut¬ 
ting of Doves, the fan-tailing of Peacocks, and the like. I 
should be curious to learn, however, from my Southern friends, 
who kill them during the winter in far greater numbers on 
their Georgia and Carolina rice fields than we can pretend to 
do on our barren bog meadows, whether they are ever known 
there either to take to woodland coverts, or to tree. 

The English Snipe, I am certain, never does either, both from 
my own experience, and from the observation of many older 
and better sportsmen than myself. I have shot the English 
bird constantly, and for several successive springs, in the fens 
of Cambridge and Norfolk ; and I have heard him drum there 
more frequently than I have here, but I never heard him chat¬ 
ter, or saw him take the tree ; and I am certain that he never 
does so. 

While speaking on this subject I must observe, again re¬ 
spectfully differing from Mr. Audubon, who asserts that “ there 
is as great a difference between the notes of the English and 
American species of Snipe, as there is between the American 
Crow and the Carrion Crow of Europe,” that in my opinion 
the cry of the two Snipes is 'perfectly identical; and in this 
view I am corroborated by the judgment of several English 
sportsmen, with whom I have habitually shot for many seasons 
here, and who, like myself, had killed Hundreds of couples of 
Snipe, before visiting America. The number of feathers in the 
tail of the European and American species differs; and I am 
nearly certain that the English bird is somewhat larger and 
heavier—Wilson, who first distinguished the two species, noti¬ 
ces the difference in size—but otherwise in appearance, and 
in all their ordinary habits, they are identical. I lay, how¬ 
ever, great stress on the difference of note, in the breeding 
season, and in the other peculiarities alluded to, as setting the 
question of variety on a much broader and more distinct base, 


166 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


than the distinction between sixteen and fourteen tail-feathers, 
and an inch more or less in length. 

Until I saw ; the American Snipe perch in tall trees, and 
heard them cackle like laying Pullets, I regarded the differ¬ 
ence between the species as merely nominal. Every day since 
that time I have more clearly discerned its reality; and have 
in consequence learned to look for them, and find them too, 
where I should as soon have thought of hunting for an Ostrich 
as for a Snipe, in England. 

With regard to the habits of the bird in summer, I know lit- 
^tle ; but that little is enough to enable me to say that they are 
in no wise different from his autumnal customs. The Snipe 
returns to Lower Canada, from the northward, with the young 
birds full fledged in July, and is at that time, and until driven 
away by the frost, shot in immense numbers on the marshes at 
Chateau Richer, at Goose Island, and hundreds of other places 
down the St. Lawrence. Along both shores of the Great 
Northern Lakes they abound, at the same time, or a little later; 
and accordingly as the season sets in early or late, so do they 
regulate their arrival with, and departure from, us. The earli¬ 
est period at which I have ever killed migratory Snipe, birds I 
mean not bred here, is the 12th of September; when, in 1842, 
I bagged fourteen couple and a-half in a deep bog-meadow 
at Chatham. The latest day, on which I have shot them is thie 
9th of November, at Pine Brook. I have been assured, how¬ 
ever, by an excellent sportsman, on whose word I can fully 
rely, that he has killed them on a spring brook, in which the 
water never freezes in the hardest weather, daily, until the 
19th of December. This was in Orange county, moreover, 
where the frost sets in at least a fortnight earlier than it does 
below the Highlands of the Hudson. The same gentleman, 
some years since, killed thirty-five Woodcock on the 13th day 
of December; a circumstance, so far as my knowledge goes, 
unparalleled in this region. There is, however, no possible 
doubt of the fact; as, being himself aware of its strangeness, 
he took unusual pains to verify it by sufficient evidence. There 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


167 


fiad been, if I do not err, a very early fall of snow, succeeded 
by bard frosts early in November, and after that, uncommonly 
mild and open weather. 

In autumn Snipe-shooting there is nothing to be observed, 
except that the birds are more composed and less restless 
than in the spring; that, unless persecuted and driven from the 
ground by incessant shooting, they linger on the same mea¬ 
dows, until the coldness of the weather compels them to travel 
southward; that they lie much better to the dog, allowing 
themselves to be pointed steadily, and rarely flushing out of 
fair distance; and, to conclude, that they are much fatter, much 
larger, much easier to kill, and much better eating than in the 
spring season. I have never seen them in bushy ground, or 
even among briars, in the autumn, though I cannot state that 
they never take to such places. 

Mr. Audubon states the weight of the American Snipe at 3 
oz. The average weight of the English species is 4 oz. I 
never, but once, weighed any American birds. I was then 
struck by their apparently unusual size; when I weighed 
twenty-five together at the tavern at Pine Brook, and they 
averaged within a small fraction of 5 oz. each. 

The Snipe is delicious eating, inferior to no bird that flies, 
save the Upland Plover, and the Canvass-Back Duck. Like 
all birds that feed on, or near the water, he must be eaten fresh. 
A true gastronomer abhors Woodcock, Snipe or wild fowl, 
in the slightest degree high. Gallinaceous game are the better 
for keeping, wild fowl and waders are ruined by it. If pos¬ 
sible they should be eaten within twenty-four hours after being 
killed. 

They should be carefully picked by hand, on no account 
drawn—that is a practice worthy of an Esquimaux, as is that 
of splitch-cocking and broiling them—the neck should be bent 
downward, and the bill run transversely through the body, im¬ 
mediately below the pinions; one leg thrust through the sinew 
of the other thigh—they should be roasted, at the outside , ten 
minutes before a very quick, brisk fire ; with no condiment, or 


163 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


butter—a thin slice of crisp buttered toast should be laid under 
them while cooking, to catch the gravy and trail, if it chance to 
fall out; and this is to be served up under them, when dished 
for the table. Any made gravy or sauce is an abomination ; 
and the practice of blanketing the birds while roasting in slips 
of fat bacon should be held the death-warrant of any cook, in a 
well regulated family. A little salt, and bread quantum suff. 
may be eaten with him ; and a glass—or if you please bottle 
—of chambertin drank with him—but, as you live, eschew 
sauces, vegetables, or—small beer! 

More people, I believe, know better how to kill a Snipe 
secundum artem , than how to cook him decently , or eat him 
gracefully , when slain. It becomes the sportsman to shine in 
both capacities ; and, though myself I partake a little too much 
of the true Spaniel’s quality to care much about eating game, 
I should at least have him eaten, if eaten he must be, as a dish 
for gods, not as a carcase for hounds. 







/X 






VMERTCAN WOODCOCK 

























































































UPLAND SHOOTING. 


369 


SUMMER WOODCOCK SHOOTING. 


HE wisdom of our game laws has 
decided that Woodcock shall he kill¬ 
ed and taken, by all and sundry, in 
the State of New-York, on and after 
the first, in the State of New Jersey 
on and after the fifth day of July; 
although in the latter State the prac¬ 
tice of the sovereign people has de¬ 
termined that the fourth is the day intended by the enactment, 
and on the fourth, accordingly, the slaughter commences. In 
Pennsylvania, and Connecticut, practice at least, if not law— 
and until recently, if there be now, there was no statute on the 
subject—has prescribed the same, or nearly the same period, 
for the commencement of Cock-shooting; and even in those 
counties of New-York to which the enactment of these game 
laws, such as they are, does not extend, tacit agreement has 
prescribed the same regulation, at least among sportsmen. 

So far, indeed, has this practice been carried, that by means 
of a convention of this sort, the shooting of Woodcock is ta¬ 
booed, until the fourth of July, even in the islands of the Great 
Lakes and the Detroit River. The example was set by the 
officers, I believe, of the American and British garrisons at 
Detroit and Amherstberg, acting in concert, and the practice 
has almost become common law. 

The fact is, therefore, that everywhere through the United 
States and the British Provinces, whether there is or is not anv 
distinct law on the subject, the commencement of July is as 









170 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


regularly hailed the legitimate time for Woodcock shooting, as 
the first of September in England for Partridge. 

In New Jersey, which is in almost every respect a century 
behind all the neighboring States, there is a special proviso 
that on his own ground every man may kill all sorts of game 
whenever he pleases, without the slightest reference to common 
sense or humanity, and may give permission, to any one he 
pleases, to do likewise. A proviso, which not only abrogates 
the whole law, in point of fact, but in truth gives the poacher a 
clear advantage over the honorable sportsman. 

There is, however, I imagine, no prospect of any alteration of 
this law, which is in perfect keeping with the pig-headed 
stupidity manifested throughout the legislation of that State. 
And why, in fact, should not a man be allowed to kill Wood¬ 
cock whenever he likes on his own ground, in a State wherein 
a company is licensed to kill men and women, whenever they 
like, on their own rail-road; and charge them whatever they 
like for killing them into the bargain ] 

On the first of July, then, Woodcock shooting legitimately 
commences ; although before that day hundreds, nay thousands, 
are killed along the sea-board, and notoriously offered for sale 
by almost all the restaurateurs and hotel-keepers in New-York, 
the utmost efforts of the Sportsman’s Club to the contrary not¬ 
withstanding. 

At this period, about four-fifths of the birds—the young 
birds, of course, I mean—are half grown or thereabout, some 
only being a few weeks old, and others, in late and adverse 
seasons, scarcely hatched. 

The Woodcock commences laying as early as the beginning 
of February, and sometimes lays so late as to the end of June, 
or the beginning of July. The eggs are four, and sometimes 
five in number,—of no more than this does any naturalist in¬ 
form us. Whether the old birds regularly breed a second, and 
third time, what becomes of the young birds of the first hatch¬ 
ing in the meantime, and whether they are protected by the 
male bird, is all left dark. 


tTPLAND SHOOTING. 


171 


Now, although the length of time occupied by incubation, is 
not laid down in the books, it cannot exceed eighteen or twenty 
days,—the young birds run the moment they clip the shell ; and 
it is stated by Mr. Audubon, I doubt not, correctly, that at six 
weeks’ old, they are strong and quick on the wing. According 
to this, there should be many birds well on the wing early in 
April ; and from all we know of the growth of these birds, no 
difference being manifest after the August moult between the 
old and young, these should be fully equal to the parents-in size 
on the first of July. 

I have myself no doubt, that the Woodcock regularly breeds 
twice, and sometimes thrice a season, although it is certain that 
young birds of two different sizes, and consequently different 
hatchings, are never found in July with the same parents. 

It occurs to me, but I cannot be sure of the fact, as I only 
speak from vague recollection, that in the few cases where it is 
possible to be assured, that all the birds killed are of one brood, 
—as, for instance, in small hill-swales, and the like, containing 
one resting-place—I have never seen above one old bird with 
the brood. In adverse seasons—the worst of which are those 
which, after a favorable and early spring, become cold and wet 
in May and June,—when the first brood is destroyed by floods, 
the old birds do unquestionably breed a second time, and hatch 
a very late brood, so late as to the middle of July. And of this, 
I think, the following anecdote will be held sufficient proof and 
confirmation. 

This anecdote was published by me some two or three years 
since, in the columns of a leading monthly magazine, in connec¬ 
tion with a number of remarks concerning the habits of the 
Woodcock, on some of which I have since been led to alter my 
opinion. I was, at that time, inclined to believe that the parent 
birds retained several broods of young, of different sizes, about 
them ; but I am satisfied that this view of the case was errone¬ 
ous, and was induced by the accident of two or more broods 
having come in contact, as is perpetually the case on well- 
stocked ground, under the care of only one parent bird each 


172 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


The only way to verify the facts satisfactorily, would be to mark 
down, in the daily return of game killed, the number of old birds 
in proportion to young, and to ascertain the sex of the former 
by dissection. The female bird, it is true, is somewhat the lar¬ 
ger ; but it is not safe to reckon on the eye, or even on the 
scales, for the determination of the sex. By the way, I conceive 
that there must be some error in the printing of Mr. Audubon’s 
statement concerning this relative disproportion. He states the 
weight of the male bird at 6{ oz., which appears to me, beyond 
all question, inadequately low,—and that of the female, at 8| oz.; 
while in length the female exceeds the male only by of an 
inch. This difference is inconceivable, not to say impossible. 
The understatement of the male Woodcock’s weight struck me 
at first sight ; and I endeavored to account for it to myself, by 
supposing that Summer Cock had been assumed as the base of 
calculation. I presume now , that 6} oz. is a typographical er¬ 
ror for 8}; which I should have stated, if asked suddenly, as 
about the average weight of a full-grown Woodcock. The bird 
from which the accompanying wood-cut was taken, shot by my¬ 
self on the 23d of October, 1843, weighed 9y oz., measured 13 
mches from bill to claw, and 18 from wing to wing extended ; 
but this was an uncommonly large bird. I have, however, 
heard of their being killed up to 11 oz. Once for all, it appears 
to me that Mr. Audubon understates the weight of his game 
birds generally. The coming season I will carry a small scale 
in my jacket pocket, and would earnestly urge it on every 
sportsman to do the same. They can be obtained at any tackle 
shop, and will weigh up to 10 or 12 lbs., being as portable as a 
common pencil-case. 

A few years since—I think it was in 1841—there was a deep 
fall of snow, covering the greater part of the State of New York, 
near eighteen inches deep, so late as the 12th or 15th of May 
It thawed, of course, immediately, and produced a complete in¬ 
undation, the early spring having been rather uncommonly dry. 
From this I augured ill for the prospects of the shooting season 
But fine weather followed, and by most persons the Spring sno^ 
storm and freshet were forgotten. 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


173 


/On the first of July I went with a friend, a good shot and ea¬ 
ger sportsman, to a favorite shooting ground, in Orange county, 
N. Y., on a part of which—for it had a very large range, and 
contained many varieties of lying—we had bagged on the pre¬ 
vious year a hundred and twenty-five birds in a single day’s 
shooting. 

We shot the first day on the low meadows, and killed hardly 
any birds ; not, to the best of my recollection, above ten or a 
dozen, in a severe day’s walking. They were well grown birds, 
but not a single old one in the number. My companion, greatly 
annoyed, insisted that the ground had been hunted before that 
season, and all the birds killed off, except the handful that we had 
found. From this conclusion I dissented, arguing that if such 
had been the case, we should have found old birds, the young 
being the easier both to find and to kill, especially for cockney 
sportsmen, who alone may be presumed to hunt before, that sea¬ 
son. My friend grew almost angry, and asked me, “ Where, 
then, are the birds V’ I answered, “ Wait till to-morrow even¬ 
ing, when we shall have beat our other ground, and I will tell 
you.” 

The next day we did beat the other ground ; wet swales, and 
sloping woods of small extent in valleys watered by little stream¬ 
lets from the hills. The result was the same, a wretched day’s 
sport, and no old birds, or at least hardly any. 

As usual, each held his own position ; my friend again asked, 
« How do you account fof this 1” I replied, “ All the young 
broods have been destroyed by the freshet, except the very few 
which got off before the May flood. This accounts for the few¬ 
ness of the birds, and for the uncommon size of those few. The 
old birds are now hatching their second broods on the ridges and 
hill sides. I will show you that I am right, to-morrow.” And 
to-morrow I did show him that the ridges and sapling coverts— 
sprouts, as the country people call them—were full of old birds, 
hovering , and no young ones. 

Still my companion was incredulous as to the second broods, 
until in the afternoon, as I was passing through a little clump of 


174 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


alders, not above two or three yards square, I flushed a bird 
which flew out to him. He fired. I called out to enquire whe¬ 
ther he had killed, and as he answered “ yes,” I heard the bird 
flapping its wings on the ground, in the death-struggle, as I ima¬ 
gined. Knowing that he could recover the bird, in the open 
ground, I beat out the thicket thoroughly, and left it, satisfied 
that it contained no other bird, though I had some difficulty in 
getting one of my Setters away from what I supposed to be a 
field mouse. On joining my friend, he told me that the bird had 
flapped up, when he was in the act of laying his hand upon it, 
and had staggered away, seeming every moment on the point of 
falling, so that he did not care to fire at it again, until it got out 
of shot; but that he had marked it down to a yard, in a thick 
brush fence, three or four hundred yards away. On going to the 
place, the dogs took the scent readily; but, while they were 
trailing it, the bird rose, a hundred yards off, flapping and stag¬ 
gering about, as if severely hurt; and flew some three or four 
hundred yards farther from the thicket in which we first started 
it, and dropped again in a piece of thick hill-side coppice. I 
marked the bird accurately by the top of a pine tree, and off we 
set in pursuit, I more than half suspecting that the bird was un¬ 
wounded. Scarce had we entered the covert, when up whizzed 
the identical bird fresh and sound, from the very brake in which 
I had marked him, and away like a bullet through the tree tops. 
So thoroughly convinced was I, that, though I could have killed 
the bird with ease, I would not fire at it; but to convince my 
still doubting friend, we walked back to the little tuft in which 
we first sprung the cock ; he promising not to fire if we should 
again flush her. My dogs were not well in the alders before 
the bird rose again, and was going away at her best pace, when 
my friend’s shot stopped her, to my infinite disgust. He is a 
very quick shot, and in the excitement of the moment forgot 
everything except the game and the fury of pursuit. 

Almost at the same moment, old Chance—he was the best re¬ 
triever I ever saw in any country—picked up from the spot 
where I had supposed he was snuffing after a field-mouse 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


175 


a young downy, unfledged Woodcock, less than two inches 
long. 

Chance would carry a hurt bird by the tip of his wing, with¬ 
out ruffling a feather ; and though it will hardly be believed, I 
took the little fledgling from his mouth unharmed, and had the 
satisfaction of seeing him run away briskly, and hide himself 
behind a dock-leaf. 

That day we shot no more, nor indeed that summer; but 
before we left Orange county, I went again to the same brake 
with the old dog, but without a gun, and flushed what I presume 
to have been the male bird, which, by its simulated crippled 
flight, again drawing me away from the spot, convinced me that 
he was watching over his motherless little ones. 

Had I needed anything to convince me that Woodcock ought 
not to be shot in July, that scene would have convinced me; 
and since that day I have never ceased to advocate a change 
and simplification of our game laws, which should prohibit the 
killing of Woodcock until the first day of October ; and make 
that one day the end of close time for all game whatever. 

For the present, however, until the game laws shall be al¬ 
tered, and established on a more reasonable and more perma¬ 
nent footing, of which I flatter myself there is still a remote hope 
left to the true sportsman, there is nothing left but to make the 
best of it,—to take the field ourselves, with the 6 i tfoXXoi, and 
do our best at the slaughter; nor will I deny that there is much 
sport in it, though sport which, if men could be induced to fore¬ 
go it, would lead to such results in autumn, as we can now hardly 
imagine. 

This interesting little bird, being properly nocturnal in his 
habits, is rarely or never seen by day, unless by those who are 
especially in pursuit of him, and even by them he is found with 
difficulty, unless when hunted with well broke dogs. 

At nightfall, however, he may often be seen on the wing, 
darting athwart the gloom from the dry upland coverts, in 
which at many seasons he loves to lie, toward his wet feeding 
grounds. During the hours of darkness he is on the alert con- 

14 


VOL. i. 


176 


FRANK FORESTER^ FIELD SPORTS. 


stantly; by night he seeks his food; by night he makes his 
long and direct migrations, choosing for this latter purpose 
foggy weather, at or about the full of the moon. 

By day he lies snugly ensconced in some lonely brake, 
among long grass and fern, under the shade of the dark alder 
or the silvery willow, and near to some marshy level, or muddy 
streamlet’s brink during the summer; but, in the autumn, on 
some dry westering hill-side, clothed with dense second-growth 
and saplings. 

In very quiet spots, especially where the covert overhead is 
dense and shadowy, he sometimes feeds by day; and it has 
been my fortune once or twice to come upon him unsuspected 
when so engaged, and to watch him for many minutes probing 
the soft loam, which he loves the best, with his long bill, and 
drawing forth his succulent food, from the smallest red wire- 
worm to the largest lob-worm, suitable for the angler’s bait 
when fishing for Perch or the Yellow Bass of the Lakes. 

It is by the abundance of this food that his selection of haunts 
is dictated, and his choice of seasons, in some considerable de¬ 
gree, controlled. On sandy and hungry soils, as of Long Island, 
for example, he is found rarely in comparison, and never in the 
large congregations which so rejoice the heart of the sportsman 
in more favored localities. Still more does he eschew soui 
marsh land and peat bogs, wherein, by the way, the worn he 
most affects hardly exists; while on fat loamy bottom lands, 
whether the color of the soil be red or black, rich with decom¬ 
posed vegetable matter, he may be found in swarms. 

It must be understood, however, that after the young brood 
have left the parent birds, which departure occurs after the first 
moult, the Woodcock is a solitary bird, acting and moving for 
himself alone, although the same causes may draw hundreds of 
them to one neighborhood, and never flying in flocks or associa¬ 
ting in anywise with his fellows, until the commencement of the 
breeding season. 

At this period of the year, from July I mean, to the begin¬ 
ning of the moult, when the bird disappears from among us for 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


177 


a while, the young broods are found on the ground in which 
they are bred. 

And there is scarcely any sort of ground, in which the soil 
consists of black vegetable mould, or rich loam of any kind, 
and in which there is a sufficiency of water, that is not conge¬ 
nial to him as a breeding place—I except always the depths of 
the primeval forests, in which he never is found. 

The narrowest ravines, down which the merest thread of wa¬ 
ter trickles among bare gray rocks, provided there is a bed of 
rich succulent soil in the bottom of the swale, even at the 
height of 800 feet above tide-water will hold a brood or two; 
so will the swampy bogs and morasses on the tops of the high¬ 
est hills; but the favorite breeding ground of the bird is un¬ 
doubtedly level marsh meadows, interspersed with clumps and 
thickets of willow and alder, maple groves, growing on swampy 
land, and warm sequestered vallies. 

In South-West Jersey, they are found in the greatest abun¬ 
dance on perfectly open meadows, among bog grass and rushes, 
in exactly what would usually be called admirable Snipe- 
ground ; and I have killed them in the neighborhood of Salem, 
in considerable numbers, where there was not a tree or bush 
within half a mile. This approximation of habits between the 
two kindred species, of Snipe and Woodcock, is very curious 
and interesting—the former bird, as we have seen above, under 
certain circumstances and in peculiar districts, betaking himself 
to the wooded haunts of his nearest blood relation, and the lat¬ 
ter, when in a treeless country, making himself at home among 
marshy levels better adapted to the general habits of his cousin. 

On no ground, however, have I ever seen, or shall I, I much 
fear, ever again see this bird in such multitudes, as on what are 
called the “ Drowned Lands ” in Orange county, N. Y. These 
are a vast tract of level country, surrounding the various branch¬ 
es and tributary streams of the Walkill—it extends many miles 
in length, and contains every sort of lying—tall open groves, 
impenetrable fastnesses of brake and thicket, wide reaches of 
perfectly open bog-meadow, and as wide expanses of open 


178 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


plain, covered with rich, tender grass, and interspersed at every 
few paces with brakes of alders, and willow bushes. The num¬ 
bers I have seen, on that ground, are incredible. In 1839 I shot 
over it, accompanied by my friend, Mr. Ward, of Warwick, who 
then weighed above three hundred pounds, and shot with a 
single-barrelled Westley Richard’s gun; and, in three succes¬ 
sive days, we bagged fifty-seven, seventy-nine and ninety-eight 
Cock, over a single brace of dogs, not beginning to shoot until 
it was late in the morning. On the following year, with a 
friend from New-York, I shot on the same ground all day the 
first, and until noon on the second; bagging, on the first, one 
hundred and twenty-five birds, and, on the second morning, 
seventy. The first of these days was intensely hot; and the 
ground became so much foiled by running of the innumerable 
birds, that, although we had excellent retrievers, we lost, 
beyond doubt, forty or fifty birds ; and at four in the afternoon 
we were entirely out of ammunition. 

I am perfectly satisfied that, if we had been provided with a 
brace of fresh dogs, at noon, with clean guns, and a proper sup¬ 
ply of powder and copper caps, both of which gave out, it 
would have been perfectly easy, on that day to have bagged 
from one hundred, to one hundred and fifty couple of Wood 
cock. 

The shooting on that ground is now ended. The Erie rail¬ 
road passes within ten miles of it, and it is now overrun with 
city poachers and pot-hunters; besides being shot incessantly 
by the farmers’ boys and village idlers of the neighborhood, 
who have begun to compete with the New York vagabonds in 
supplying the markets with game. 

I confess that I have often wondered that the owners of these 
tracts have not had the shrewdness to discover that by enforcing 
the laws, and profiting trespassers, they might annually let the 
shooting of these ranges for very considerable sums. “ The 
Drowned Lands ” are in general held in large farms, and the best 
shooting is all owned, comparatively speaking, by a very few 
individuals. I have not the slightest hesitation in saying that 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


179 


if some half-dozen or eight farmers, whose land I know, would 
resolutely put an end to all shooting on their premises, they 
could readily let the right of shooting to an association of gen¬ 
tlemen, at a price which would put a hundred dollars annually 
into each of their pockets. 

I could find the gentlemen who would give it, and be but too 
glad of the opportunity; and who, looking forward to enjoy¬ 
ment of the same sport in future years, would neither wantonly 
annihilate the stock, nor do the mischief to the grass crops, and 
fences, which continually results from the incursions of the 
loafers and vagabonds, who compose the great bulk of rural 
sportsmen. I really should greatly rejoice at seeing something 
of this sort attempted. Its effect would be most beneficial on 
the preservation of game generally throughout the United 
States. 

At the beginning of the Woodcock season, to revert to things 
as they now are, it is an easy matter to find birds, if you are 
in a good country; and in truth, except in the immediate 
vicinity of the large cities, there is no difficulty in finding 
broods enough to amuse a few leisure hours ; although it is 
daily becoming more and more questionable whether it is 
worth the while of dwellers in the Atlantic cities, to keep dogs 
for the purpose of Cock-shooting, and to make excursions some 
fifty or sixty miles inland for sport during the season. A due 
regard to truth compels me to say that such excursions have 
ceased to be what they were, “ consule Planco,” when General 
Jackson was first President; yet farther inland there are 
doubtless still places to be found abounding with the tribe of 
Scolopax; although from the “Big Piece,” and the “Little 
Piece,” from Chatham and the “ Drowned Lands,” the glory 
of his house has, for the most part, departed. 

In July, then, there is ordinarily but little skill to be dis¬ 
played in the mere act of finding the birds, for there is nothing 
to be done but to beat the ground carefully, thoroughly and 
slowly, wherever there is water and covert. Unless the brood 
of the season has been annihilated already, or the ground go 


180 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


persecuted in past seasons as to have been entirely deserted 
by the breeders, here they must be found. In this country 
Woodcock are shot altogether over Setters or Pointers—during 
the whole sixteen years, which I have passed in the States, 1 
have known but two sportsmen who used the Cocking Spaniel, 
though that is unquestionably the proper dog over which to 
shoot the bird—and it is obvious that there are many objections 
to be made to these, in their places, noble animals, as used for 
covert-shooting. The proper sphere for both Pointer and Set¬ 
ter is the open—the wide, waving, heathery moors, the grassy 
Snipe-bog, the rich russet stubbles, from which the harvests 
have been garnered to the farmer’s heart-content. To range as 
wide, as highly, and as dashingly as they can, is their proper 
vocation, and their highest merit. To work fairly and in full 
view of their master and of one another, giving plentiful note 
of the vicinity of game by their actions to the eye, but none to 
the ear, is the province for which nature destined them, as all 
their qualities demonstrate. 

In order to suit them for wood-shooting at all, one of these 
qualities has necessarily to be drilled out of them, by early and 
incessant rating, watching and admonition—I mean their speed, 
range and dash. 

The highest merit a thorough-bred and thoroughly-broke 
Setter or Pointer can possess in Europe, on his proper ground, 
and in pursuit of his proper game, is never, unless he be at a 
dead point, or down to charge, to be within five hundred yards 
of his master, always beating his ground, head up and stern 
down, at full gallop. Here in covert at least, where nine-tenths 
of his work is done, his highest merit is never to be twenty 
yards distant from him. 

He must unlearn his own nature, and acquire that of the 
Spaniel; in so far, at least, as to substitute unwearied industry, 
short, continually-succeeding turns, and the closest possible 
quartering of the ground, for his natural rating gallop. His eye 
must be constantly on his master, his ear ever alive to his 
slightest whistle, which he must obey with the speed of 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


181 


lignt. He must be prepared to back his fellow, oftener at 
the word “Toho!” than at sight of his point; for so difficult is 
the covert in which his duty is done, that I have more than 
once seen three several dogs standing within a square of six 
yards, on one bird, not one of which suspected his comrade’s 
presence. Again, he must be broke to drop where he is when 
the shot is discharged, instantaneously, and to lie there until 
commanded to “ Seek deadwhen he must draw up to the 
killed bird, point it, and at the word “ Fetch,” perform the 
‘duty of a retriever. 

This it is, which makes a really fine, and thoroughly broke, 
Woodcock dog so nearly invaluable. 

Shooting as we do in this country in thickets overrun 
with vines, creepers, and cat-briars, to which the densest cop¬ 
pice or covert I ever have seen in England, was open-work, 
and that too, when every tree, plant and shrub is covered 
with its most luxuriant summer foliage, it is evident that a 
dog cannot be visible half the time at a distance of ten paces; 
and that it is only by his keeping in constant motion to and fro, 
close before us, that we can in the least make out his where¬ 
about. As it is, with the best broke dogs, it is a common thing 
to lose them altogether, though perhaps but fifteen yards off, 
when pointing steadily, and to be compelled either to call them 
off, or to waste half the day in looking for them. 

Another great difficulty in summer Cock-shooting, over 
Setters, is this, that when the bird is pointed, as he almost 
universally is, from the outside of a brake inward, it is almost 
impossible to get a fair shot at him, unless you do so unsports¬ 
manlike a thing as to hie your dog on, and make him flush his 
own bird. This cannot be done with impunity for any length 
of time, even with the best and steadiest dogs ; for when once 
hey have become used to this irregular mode of proceeding, 
although they may stand stock still, and shew as staunchly as 
possible, under their master’s eye, until desired to “ hie on !” 
no sooner will they find themselves pointing out of sight, than 
they will follow what is surely the bent of their natural instinct, 


182 FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 

kept down by painful instruction, and will dasb in and flush 
their game. 

When shooting in company, as one always should do, if pos¬ 
sible, especially in July, I have always made it a point, when 
the dogs were standing, so as to render it likely that the shot 
would be a ticklish one, to call up my comrade,—birds lie hard in 
summer, and a word or two, more or less, will not flush them,— 
to place him in the most commanding position, and then plunge 
into the brake, taking my chance for a snap shot, and up with 
the bird myself. Having always kept dogs, and having shot 
principally with friends who did not, it has always been my 
luck to have the gamekeeper’s work, and to be forced to drive 
through the thick of the tangle, while the others could pick their 
way along the outskirts, and get open shots. Somehow or other, 
however, I have generally managed to get about as many shots, 
and perhaps to bag about as many birds as my neighbors ; and, 
in process of time, I have got into the way of liking the rough- 
and-tumble inside-of-the-covert work. You see more of the 
dogs’ working, and get more, if harder, shots; and, above all, 
you acquire what is the knack of covert-shooting, the knack of 
tossing up your gun instinctively to your shoulder, and stopping 
your bird in the most tangled thicket, without knowing how you 
shot him, or whether you saw him at all when you fired, the in¬ 
stant you hear a flap of his wing. 

Even when alone, I invariably flush my own bird, never order¬ 
ing my dog to go on, even at the risk of losing a shot; though 
the chances are, that you can generally mark the bird down to 
lerably well. In this matter I never vary, and I do most strenu¬ 
ously urge it upon all sportsmen, who would have good dogs, 
and good sport, to neglect and sacrifice all individual shots, all 
individual, crippled, or killed birds, rather than do a wrong thing 
themselves before their dogs, or allow them to do a wrong thing 
uncorrected. 

By running in to catch one wing-tipped bird, racing away 
from your dogs, or by encouraging them to run in and fetch, 
before you have loaded, you will lose, in all probability, fifty 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


183 


birds,—by your setter getting into the way of dashing into the 
midst of scattered bevies, and flushing them all, one by one, 
while you are standing with your unloadfed gun in your hand, 
roaring down-charge, and uttering, if you are a little quick¬ 
tempered, all sorts of imprecations against your poor dog, 
which, if at all just, you would fulminate against yourself. No¬ 
thing is more annoying to me, than to be joined by some coun¬ 
try gunner in the field, who, utterly unconscious of wrong, per¬ 
sists in doing things which make your own hair stand on end. 
and compels you to flog the unhappy quadrupeds for the faults 
of the stupid biped. 

While speaking on this subject, I will quote an observation 
which I met with the other day, in a capital book, by a right 
good sportsman, entitled—the book, not the man—“ The Moor 
and the Loch.” The truth and force of the remark struck me 
the moment I read it; and, although it is not new to the accom 
plished sportsman, or old dog-breaker, I think I have never seen 
it in print before ; and I am sure I have seen the fault it repre¬ 
hends committed a hundred times. 

The writer is speaking of “ the inveterate habit, contracted 
through bad breaking, of running in when the bird drops. This 
trick is acquired from the breaker’s carelessness, in not always 
making the dog fall down when birds rise, a rule which should 
never be neglected, on any pretence.” Mr. Colquhoun here 
means, that the dog should be taught to charge, on the bird ris¬ 
ing, whether shot at, or not; and unquestionably he is right in 
the matter. “ The steadiness of a dog ,” he proceeds, “ whether 
old or young , depends entirely upon its being rigidly observed. I 
have seen dogs most unmercifully flogged, and yet bolt with the 
same eagerness every shot. It is easy to see the reason ; the 
dog was followed by the keeper endeavoring to make him 
« down’; there was thus a race between them, which should first 
reach the fallen bird. The plan to adopt with a dog of this de¬ 
scription, is when the Grouse,” or other game, “ drops, and the 
dog rushes forward, never to stir,—coolly allow him to tear 
away at the game until you have loaded ; by which time he 


184 


FEANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


will most probably have become ashamed of himself. You will 
then walk up most deliberately, and without noticing the bird, 
take the dog by the ear, and pull him back to where you fired* 
all the time giving him hearty shakes ”—I should say, cuts with 
the whip,—“ and crying ‘down,’ when you get to the spot 
where you shot from, take out your whip, and between the 
stripes call ‘ down,’ in a loud voice ; continue this at intervals 
for some time ; and, even when you. have finished your discipline, 
don’t allow the dog to rise for ten minutes at least; then, after 
speaking a few words expressive of caution, take him slowly up 
to the bird, and lift it before h?s nose. If this plan is rigidly 
followed for several shots, I never saw the dog that would con¬ 
tinue to run in.” 

The writer, it will be observed, is here speaking of running 
in to eat or tear, not to “fetch” his bird ; that being a practice 
never taught, or allowed, to Pointers and Setters in England, 
simply because, being used altogether in the open field, it is as 
needless there, as it is necessary here. When I first came to 
this country, I imported a fine young Setter pup, which I had 
broke by Mr. Sandford, of Newark, whom I consider, in all 
respects, the best and most intelligent dog-breaker I ever saw; 
and, on conversing with him on the mode of breaking, I was 
equally surprised at learning two things,—that Setters, or Point¬ 
ers, were invariably broke to “fetch” or retrieve dead birds; 
and that they were always taught to “ come in” before charg¬ 
ing. I was exceedingly incredulous on the first point; and it 
was only with reluctance, and after seeing the steadiness with 
which his dogs first charged, then pointed dead, and then fetched, 
that I consented to allow “ Chance” to be broke to retrieve. On 
the other point I was firm ; and Mr. Sandford having broken 
that dog for me, to drop to shot, on the spot, without coming in, 
was so thoroughly convinced of its advantage, in giving steadi¬ 
ness, in avoiding unnecessary words and orders, and in render 
ing the dog promptly obedient, that he at once adopted the me¬ 
thod, and has never broken a dog otherwise since that time. 

I must add, that I am equally well satisfied, that to retrieve 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


185 


is a necessary accomplishment for a Setter or Pointer in this 
country ; that it would be an advantage everywhere ; and that 
a dog can be precisely as steady fetching every bird, as he can 
if incapable of so doing. 

But he must invariably be made, not only to down-charge, 
but to point dead , before he is allowed to fetch. If the second 
duty is neglected, it will be a very little while before the ani 
mal begins to rush in at every shot, without charging. 

One great difficulty here is, that no one in America having 
gamekeepers, the hunting of the dog, so soon as he is turned 
out of the breaker’s hands, falls directly on the master-—who is 
very generally, even if himself a very passably good shot, unac¬ 
quainted with the methods of dog-breaking, and unqualified by 
his habits of life, for taking the trouble of going systematically 
to work with the animal, so as to keep him up to all that he 
knows, and to prevent him from either acquiring new bad tricks> 
or neglecting his old teachings. It is scarcely too much to say, 
that one half of the dogs in the United States, which go out of 
the breaker’s into the master’s hands valuable brutes, are, at the 
end of twelve months, worthless. 

I should strongly recommend young sportsmen, when pur¬ 
chasing new dogs, to take an opportunity, if possible, of seeing 
them hunted several times by the breaker, and of endeavoring 
to observe his peculiar modes of speech and action with the dog ; 
and at all events to learn those points of education, on which 
he insists, in order that they may guide themselves in their own 
conduct toward the animal thereby, and insist on the animal 
acting in all respects up to his previous teaching. Old sports¬ 
men, of course, have their own ways of having their dogs 
trained, and on these they are so trained before buying them. 
Another thing is worthy of observation—a dog never ought to 
be lent. I would not lend my dog to a better sportsman than 
myself—because no two. sportsmen hunt their dogs, as I have 
observed, exactly alike, and I wish my dog to hunt as I want 
him to hunt, not better than he does, nor worse. It is impossi¬ 
ble to imagine the difference of the intelligence of two dogs, 


186 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


equally good by nature, the one of which has never been hunted 
but by one master, and the other by every one whom he has 
been pleased to follow. 

I have taken the opportunity of making these observations 
on dog-breaking, and dog-hunting, in this place, because in 
summer Woodcock shooting, above any other phase of the 
sport, an implicit obedience, great steadiness, and perfect 
staunchness is required in the dog. In Quail, or Snipe-shooting, 
you can see your dog the greater part of the time ; you can 
observe his every motion; and can usually, if you are quick- 
sighted and ready-witted, foresee when he is about to commit a 
fault in time to check him. In summer shooting, woe betide 
you, if you entertain so wild a hope. You hunt darkling, 
catching sight of your four-footed companion only by snatches, 
often judging him to be on the point, because you have ceased 
to hear the rustle of his sinuous movement through the bushes ; 
or because you have not seen his form gliding among the water- 
flags or fern, so recently as you should have done, had he turned 
at his regular distance, and quartered his ground without 
finding game. It is not once in ten, nay ! in twenty times, that 
you see him strike his trail, draw on it, become surer, and stand 
stiff. You lose him for a moment, look for him, where he ought 
to be , and find him because he is there , pointing as you expected. 
A step or two forward, with your thumb on the hammer, and 
the nail of your forefinger touching the inside of your trigger- 
guard. Still he stands steady as a rock; and you know by 
the glare of his fixed eye, and the frown of his steadfast brow, 
and the slaver on his lip, that the skulking Cock is within ten 
feet of his nose, perhaps within ten inches. You kick the skunk- 
cabbages with your foot, or tap the bunch of cat-briars with your 
gun-muzzle, and flip-flap ! up he jumps, glances, half-seen fo*. 
a second, between the stems of the alder bushes, and is lost to 
sight among the thick foliage of their dark green heads, before 
jour gun-butt has touched your shoulder. But your eye has 
taken in his line—the trigger is drawn, the charge splinters 
the stems and brings down a shower of green leaves, and 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


187 


among them you fancy that you have seen an indistinct some¬ 
thing falling helplessly earthward—that you have heard the 
thud of his tumble on the moist ground. Nevertheless, anxious 
although you be, and doubtful of your own success, you stir 
not from the spot. At the report of the gun, your dog couch¬ 
ed instantly; you can scarcely see him, so closely has he charged 
among the water-grass, with his nose pressed into the very 
earth between his paws. 

You drop your butt upon the toe of your boot, if the ground 
be very wet, and begin to load, rapidly, yet coolly and delibe¬ 
rately. Yes! you have killed him ; you may see the feathers 
floating yonder, in the still murky air of the windless swamp. 
You half-cock your locks, and apply the caps ; and, expectant 
of the coming order, “ Don” lifts his nose wistfully. “ Hold up, 
seek dead !” and carefully, gingerly, as if he were treading up¬ 
on eggs, knowing as well as you do that the bird is dead, and 
knowing pretty well where he is, at a slow trot, moving his 
nose from this side to that, snuffing the tainted air, and whip¬ 
ping his flanks with his feathered stern, he draws onward at a 
slow trot. Now he has caught the scent, he straightens his 
neck, quickens his pace a little, decidedly and boldly, and 
stands firm. “Good dog: Fetch.” He stoops, picks up the 
dead bird, by the tip of the wing only, and brings him to you 
without ruffling a feather. How conscious, how happy, how 
perfectly aware that he has merited your approbation, that you 
have both played your parts handsomely, as he hands you the 
trophy. 

Let him snuffle at it, for a moment, if he likes it; he would 
not touch it with a tooth, for a dog kingdom ; but the scent is 
to him what the aroma of a glass of Lynch’s Chateau Margaux 
of ’25 is to you,—let him enjoy it, he shall not serve you the 
worse, for that he looks for his reward. 

Here, gentle reader, is what thou art expected to do on oc¬ 
casion. Do it thus, always, and thou art a good sportsman, 
and a crack shot, not a doubt of it. Do it thus, very often in 
one day, and thou art having a right good day’s sport of it; 


183 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


sueli as I trust I may have many, before this year has donned 
the sear of the leaf, which is not as yet green. 

Jesting apart, this is the way to do it, both as regards the 
flushing and shooting the bird, and the management of the dog ; 
and, with respect to the last, I have only to add, that while it is 
impossible to be too resolute, too firm, and almost impossible to 
be too strict, if not severe, it is also impossible to be too patient, 
too deliberate, or too quiet , with a delinquent dog. The least 
outbreak of temper prostrates its own object. All punishment 
aims at prevention. If you distract the dog’s comprehension of 
your meaning, the object of the punishment is lost. Remem¬ 
ber, too, that the brute knows as well, whether he is punished 
justly or unjustly, as you do. 

A quiet rating, and a gentle pull of the ear, is better than an 
intemperate and noisy flogging ; but when you do flog, let it be 
no child’s play, teasing and irritating without punishing,—when 
you do flog, flog in earnest. 

And this is a day’s summer Cock-shooting,—a repetition of 
this that I have described, varied by those thousand little un¬ 
foreseen incidents, which render field sports so charming to 
every sensitive and enthusiastic spirit. First of all, it is pursued 
in the very loveliest summer weather, when the whole atmo¬ 
sphere is alive with all sounds of merriment and glee,—it is fol¬ 
lowed among the wildest and most romantic combinations of 
rural scenery—in the deep, dim, secluded groves, far from the 
ordinary tread of man, by the reedy and willow-girdled mar¬ 
gins of calm inland waters, by the springy shores of musical 
mountain brooks, in long-retiring valleys high up among the 
hills, whence we look forth at unexpected turns over wide tracts 
of woodland scenery—in places where the shyest and most 
timid of warblers wake their wild music all day long, screened 
by impervious umbrage from the hot noon-tide of July, where 
every form of animal life and beauty abounds, unbeheld of or 
dinary mortals. 

And are not all these things a source of pleasure to the true 
woodsman ! Is he not necessarily a lover not of sport only, and 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


189 


of excitement—those are the ruder and less genial attributes 
of his profession—hut a lover of nature ] To his mere success 
as a sportsman, I have already shown that a knowledge of the 
habits and instincts of animals is necessary ; and let a man once 
set himself to study these, and he has turned already the first 
page of natural history; and so enticing is the study, that he 
perforce must persevere. And none can study natural history, 
without loving nature. The true sportsman, the gentle sports¬ 
man, must he in some sort a poet—not a jingler of rhymes, or a 
cramper of English words into strange and uncongenial mea¬ 
sures, a meter of syllables, and a counter of fingers, but a lover 
of all things beautiful and wild—a meditator, a muser ! He 
must be, as the old pastorals were, nympharum fugientum ama- 
tor; and to the very farthest flight of their coy footsteps must 
he follow them. Were it not for this, the sportsman were but 
a mere skilful butcher,—out upon it! there be better things 
than this in our philosophy ! 

This it is, with the sense of freedom, the sense of power, of 
manhood, of unchained and absolute volition, which we feel 
when our foot is on the mountain sod, our lungs expanded by 
the mountain air, that makes, in some sort, every man a sports¬ 
man. 

And then the noonday repose beneath the canopy of some 
dark hemlock, or tall pine, still vocal with the same fitful mur¬ 
mur which pleasured in Arcadia the ears of old Theocritus—the 
dainty morsel, rendered a thousand times more savory than 
your city banquets, by the true Spartan sauce of hunger, the 
cool draught tempered by waters cooller and clearer, though 
perchance less full of inspiration, than the lymph of Hippocrene ; 
the pleasant converse on subjects manifold, over the mild fumes 
of the composing cigar,—or, if need be, the camping out in the 
wild woods, the plying of the axe to form the temporary shanty, 
the kindling of the merry blaze, the rude yet appetizing cook¬ 
ery, the buoyancy of soul caught from all these things, the un¬ 
tutored jest, the untaught laughter; and, last not least, com¬ 
posed on the fragrant hemlock tips, which strew the woodman’s 


190 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SFORTS. 


couch, lulled by the murmur of the wind in the never-silent 
tree tops, by the far plash of falling waters, by the plaintive 
wailing of the whip-poor-will, and the joyous revelry of the dew- 
drinking katydids—the sleep, under the blue vault of the skies, 
guarded by the winking eyes of the watchful planets only,— 
sweeter and sounder, lighter and more luxurious, than princes 
catch on beds of eider-down and velvet. 

Lo ! you now, reader, have not we too caught the inspira¬ 
tion, and ere we knew it, waxed poetical ! 

One thing alone is wanting to the perfection of summer 
shooting as a sport—I speak not now of the unfitness of the sea¬ 
son for hard exercise ,—no season is, in truth, unfit for the dis¬ 
play of manhood !—nor of the unfitness of the half-grown broods 
for slaughter!—and that one thing is, the want of variety in the 
species of game. In autumn, hearty, jocund, brown autumn, the 
woodman’s sport is indeed manifold. Even when his dog has 
pointed, though he may guess shrewdly from the nature of his 
movements and the style of his point, the sportsman knows not 
what may be the game which shall present itself to his skill. It 
may be the magnificent Ruffed Grouse, whirring up with a flut¬ 
ter and an impetus that shall shake the nerves of a novice; it 
may be a bevy of quail eighteen or twenty strong, crowding 
and jostling one another in their anxiety to avoid the danger, 
and distracting his aim by the multiplicity of objects; it may be 
a full-grown white-fronted Woodcock, soaring away with its 
sharp whistle high above the tree tops ; it may be the skulking 
Hare, bouncing among the kalmias and rhododendrons, vulgarly 
generalized as laurels—they might as well be called cabbages ! 
—it may be Teal or Wood-duck, or if we are in the open, it may 
be Snipe, skirring away zig-zag over the rushy level. 

This it is which gives so strange a zest to the field sports of 
an American autumn day, and which renders the autumn shoot¬ 
ing of this country the wildest and most interesting of any it 
has ever been my luck to encounter—of any, I presume, in the 
world, unless it be that of Northern India, on the lower slopes 
and in the plains at the foot of the Himalayah Mountains. 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


191 


And with this ends all that is to be said on summer Wood¬ 
cock shooting; for the period during which the sport can be 
followed is of itself brief, not lasting—at the utmost not above a 
month from its commencement to its termination, by the disap¬ 
pearance of the birds from their usual haunts in this section of 
the country. 

This disappearance of the bird is one of the most mysterious 
and inexplicable features in the natural history of the Wood¬ 
cock ; and what is very remarkable, it is not in any wise no¬ 
ticed or alluded to by any naturalist with whose works I am 
acquainted. Neither Audubon nor Wilson appear cognizant 
of the fact, both speaking of the Woodcock, as if it tarried with 
us regularly from its arrival early in February, until its depar¬ 
ture on the setting in of severe frost. 

That this is not the case, is perfectly well known to every 
sportsman in the country, although very few of these have trou¬ 
bled their heads to consider the circumstances of this short mi¬ 
gration, much less to record it. The fact is, that so soon as the 
young birds of the last brood are full-grown, the Woodcock 
withdraws for the purpose of moulting, and returns no more 
until the autumnal frosts have set fairly in, until the meadow 
grass is crisp, and the leaves sear. A few scattered birds in¬ 
deed linger in the old places, just enough to prove that there is 
an absolute change of place on the part of the others of the fa¬ 
mily, and these only, it is probable, in consequence of some ac¬ 
cidental circumstance which has detained them, such as the late¬ 
ness of their last brood, or perhaps an unduly early moult on 
their own part, compelling them to remain tranquil, while their 
congeners are moving. 

At all events, the disappearance of the main body is sudden, 
total, and simultaneous. So much so, that for the five or six 
earliest years of my residence in America, when matters of bu¬ 
siness prevented me from absenting myself from the city until 
the first of August, I was utterly unaware that the “ Drowned 
Lands” of Orange county ever held many Woodcock, although 
t was in the habit of passing my summers in that immediate 
vol. i. 15 


192 


FRANK FORESTER^ FIELD SPORTS. 


vicinity, and had beat the very ground on which I have subse¬ 
quently killed hundreds, without getting above half-a-dozen 
shots. 

It is in the last week of July, or the first of August, that this 
disappearance of the Cock, whether from the hill-swales, the 
larger valleys, or the level meadows, takes place; and after 
this until the first week in October, it is useless to hunt for 
them. A few birds can, it is true, at all times be procured, 
enough to furnish a dainty for a sick friend, or perhaps at a 
hard pinch to try a dog; but certainly not enough to render it 
agreeable, or worth the while to go out in pursuit of them. 
Another fact, going to prove that there is an absolute disap¬ 
pearance or emigration of the bird, at this season, is that on 
their return, they come in successive flights, tarrying each a 
longer or shorter time, according to the circumstances of the 
weather, and then passing onward. This is, I think, conclusive. 

When first I began to sport in this country, some sixteen 
years ago, there were two theories current among sportsmen, 
whereby to account for the fact, that in woods, where the birds 
swarmed in July, they were hardly to be found in August. 
Both theories, as I have proved to my own satisfaction, are 
untenable and groundless. 

The first was this—“ That the bird did not in truth, disappear 
at all, but remained on his old ground ; though, owing to the 
fact of his being in moult, he gave out no scent whereby the 
dog could detect him; and from sickness, or inability to fly 
with his wonted velocity, refused to rise before the tread of his 
intruding enemy, the man.” 

This theory is answered in a word. The Woodcock, while 
in moult, does give out as much scent, is pointed as readily by 
dogs, does rise as willingly before the point, and is as good 
upon the table as at any other season. Facts, which are easily 
proved; since, although the great mass of birds withdraw 
during August, and do not return before October, a few do still 
tarry in their old swamps, and may be found and shot, though 
so few in number, and at so great an expense of time and 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


193 


labor, as to render the pursuit of them toilsome, and productive 
only of weariness and disappointment. 

I have, however, killed them repeatedly, while endeavoring 
to satisfy myself of the facts which I now assert, so deep in the 
moult that their bodies have been almost naked, and that they 
have fluttered up feebly, and with a heavy whirring, on wings 
divested of one-half the quill feathers; and, in that state, I 
have observed that the dogs stood as staunchly, and at as great 
a distance from their game, as usual; and that the birds took 
wing as freely, though, in truth, half impotent to fly. 

Beyond this, it is scarce necessary to point out to an intelli¬ 
gent reader, that if the birds still lay in swarms on their old 
ground, however scentless, they must, when that ground is 
hunted closely by true-beating and industrious dogs, be either 
run up, or turned out of the grass, and caught in the mouth 
sometimes; which I have never known to happen in all my 
experience of the field. 

The other theory was this, which I have heard insisted on as 
strenuously as the former, “ That the Woodcock, on beginning 
to moult, betakes himself to the maize or Indian com fields, 
and remains there unsuspected until the crops have been hous¬ 
ed, and the cold weather has set in.” That a few scattered 
Woodcock may be found in wet, low maize-fields, along the 
edge of woods, is true ; and it is true, also, that they feed in 
such situations in great numbers, during the night, previous to 
their removal; but that they are ever to be found generally, or 
for any number of consecutive days or weeks in such ground, 
is an utterly incorrect surmise, disproved by long experience. 

I have applied myself carefully to the investigation of this 
circumstance ; and in the last ten years, have certainly beaten a 
thousand maize-fields thoroughly, with a brace of as good Set¬ 
ters as any private gentleman possessed, at the very period 
when fanners would tell me “ they were as thick as fowls in the 
corn-fields ; ” and I have not on any occasion flushed more 
than three birds, in any one field ; nor have I killed twenty-fivo 
on such ground altogether. 


194 


PRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


Somewhat, I must confess, to my surprise, I have observed 
within the last few weeks, a long and somewhat elaborate 
article, in the columns of that admirable journal, the New-York 
Spirit of the Times, the writer of which apparently quite uncon¬ 
scious of all that has been written on the subject, and seeming 
to believe that he has made a discovery, brings out anew the 
old corn-field story. The matter is really not worth talking 
about. Every school-boy knows that late in July and August 
a few birds occasionally resort to wet, woodside maize-fields, 
and every one who has shot fifty summer Cock in his life ought 
to know, that no number are ever to be found in them, and that 
he must have immense luck who bags a dozen Cock in all the 
maize-fields he can beat in a hard day’s walk. I would like 
nothing better than to bet season in and out, against one bird 
to the square acre—or square five acres, for that matter. 

I think the reader will admit that the two theories, alluded to 
above, are by these facts indisputably controverted. 

And now I must expect that it will be enquired of me, 
“ whither, then, do they go ] What does become of them V ’ 
To which sage questions it is, I grieve to say, my fate to be 
unable to make satisfactory reply. 

I was formerly inclined to believe, that when the moult is at 
hand, the Woodcock withdraws to the small upland runnels, 
and boggy streamlets, which are to be found everywhere among 
our highest hills or mountains. That the moulting season is the 
signal for dispersion, and the termination of all family ties 
between the young and old birds, is certain. From this time 
forth, until the next February brings round the pairing time, 
the Woodcock, whether found singly in a solitary place, or 
among scores of his kind, is still a lonely and ungregarious 
bird, coming and going at his own pleasure, without reference 
—undemocratic rascal—to the will of the majority. 

In corroboration of this view of the absence of our bird 
during the early autumn, I was once informed by a gentleman 
whose word I have no reason to disbelieve, that on ascending 
once to the summit of Bull Hill, one of the loftiest of the High- 


tTPLAND SHOOTING. 


195 


lands of the Hudson, with the intent of showing the fine view 
thence to a city friend, he found the brushwood on the barren 
and rocky ledges, and even on the crown of the hill, literally 
alive with Woodcock. This occurred, according to his state¬ 
ment, in the beginning of September, when no birds were to 
be found in the level and wet woods below. He farther stated, 
that he at first intended to revisit the hill the next day, with dog 
and gun, in order to profit by his discovery, but was prevented 
doing so by casual circumstances, until the frost had set in 
keenly in the woods. He then climbed the hill, and beat it 
carefully with dogs, without obtaining one point to reward his 
labor; and on the next day found the swamps below full of 
birds. 

Not vouching for the truth of this tale, I tell it as ’twas told 
to me; the teller was a sportsman, and a man of average vera¬ 
city—that is to say, I should have been inclined to believe any 
fact he stated, where I could see no interest, on his part, which 
should lead him to attempt deception. In this case there was 
no such reason; not even the desire of prevailing in argument, 
for we were not arguing. I cannot, therefore, well doubt the 
correctness of his information. 

If truly stated, as I believe it to have been, this fact makes 
somewhat for my former opinion. I have, also, myself, fre¬ 
quently found scattered birds on such hill-tops, and in such 
mountain-swales, while deer-stalking, in August and September, 
though not in numbers which would justify the belief in a 
general migration en masse to such localities. 

If, however, my half-formed opinion—for it is no more—be 
correct, the birds are dispersed at this period of the year, and 
are only to be found, casually, in knots of three or four, and 
never in greater numbers. 

The other, and, on the whole, perhaps more probable sug¬ 
gestion is this: that, after rearing their young, driven by the 
heat of the weather—or, it may be, by the temporary exhaustion 
of food on their favorite grounds, they move farther northward 
as does the English Snipe, yet earlier in the season, not to 


196 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


return until the premature cold of northern Canada drives them 
back, to tarry with us a few months on their way southward. 

Should this prove to be the case, the Woodcock, instead of 
being termed with us a summer bird of passage, must be 
regarded as a spring and autumnal visitant, like his congener, 
the Snipe—with this difference, that the Snipe rarely breeds 
with us, going northward to nidificate, while his fellow-emigrant, 
our Scolopax , invariably rears his young before going farther 
toward the frosts of the northern pole. 

Of these suggestions my readers must judge whether is 
the better of the two; one of the two I believe to be the only 
way for accounting for the Woodcock’s short disappearance at 
this season. For the rest, as I leaned at first to the former, so 
do I now rather incline toward the latter belief, facts not bear¬ 
ing out the former to my satisfaction, although I do not think 
the question has been, as yet, fully tested by experiment. 

It is to be regretted here, that this question is yearly becom¬ 
ing, in these districts, more difficult of solution ; and I am the 
more strenuous in noting this emigration, because things may 
come, ere long, to such a pass, that it will become wholly 
undistinguishable. 

When I first shot in New-Jersey, and in the river counties 
of New-York, the disappearance of the birds was evident 
enough ; because, up to a certain day, they abounded, and after 
that, were not. Now, long before the second week of July, 
the Woodcock are exterminated in their summer haunts for 
miles and miles around our large cities ; too many of them, 
alas! slaughtered before the season, when scarcely able to fly 
—when nearly unfit for the table—when a game despicable to 
the loyal sportsman, and a victim easy to the pot-hunting knave, 
who goes gunning with a half-bred, half-broken cur, and a Ger¬ 
man fowling-piece, dear at a dollar’s purchase. 

Oh ! gentlemen legislators—gentlemen sportsmen, 

“ Reform it altogether !” 

Oh ! ye choice spirits, who stood forth, after the long, hard 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


107 


winter and deep snow-drifts Quail-destroying of 1836, to rescue 
that delightful little fowl from total extinction, stand forth in 
likewise now, in protection of the Woodcock. Sufficient for 
the day is the evil thereof. Railroads are ruining the hopes— 
the pleasures of the sportsman ; our best shooting grounds now 
swarm, on the first of July, with guns more numerous than 
birds; the Warwick woodlands, once inaccessible to the pot¬ 
hunter and the poacher, may now be reached for fifty cents ; 
may now be swept clear in a single day ; nay, are swept clear 
of half-fledged younglings, by men, boys, and bunglers, and 
ruthlessly devoured before the season has set in, by ignorant 
voracious cockneys. 

Reform it altogether!* 

Enact that the Woodcock shall not be slain—shall not be 
possessed—as Mr. Blunt possessed him—on plate or in stomach, 
until the first day of October. Every true sportsman—every 
sportsman whatsoever, will go hand and heart with the law— 
will watch and prevent the illegal sale of the bird; and then, 
ye gods of woodcraft! Sylvans and Fauns ! and thou, friend 
of the hunter, Pan ! what sport shall we have in brown Octo¬ 
ber, when the sere underbrush is bare of leaves to mar the 
sportsman’s aim; when the cool dewy earth sends up the odor 
of the game in fresh steams to the Setter’s keen and sagacious 
nose; when the pure air braces the nerves and fans the brow, 
delicious; when the full-grown, white-fronted, pink-legged 
Cock springs up—not fluttering feebly now, and staggering 
stupidly into the muzzle of the gun, to drop again within twenty 
yards, but on a vigorous and whistling pinion, with sharp-piping 
alarm note, swift as a rifle-bullet, soaring away through the 
tree-tops, or darting, devious with abrupt zig-zags, among the 
thick-set saplings. 

Him, no boy can blaze at, his twenty times in half an hour, 
and slaughter after all with one chance pellet, or happily wea¬ 
ried down without one ! Him can no German gun achieve, of 
cast-iron, scattering its shot over an area of twenty feet, harm- 


198 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


less at twenty yards ! Him can no cur-dog flush in gun-shot 
of pot-hunting poucher. 

No ! gentle reader, him, whether he lies in the tufted fern and 
wintergreens, or the dry slope of some warm, westering hill¬ 
side, among second-growth of brown oak and chestnut; whether 
he wades among the shallow mud-pools, sheltered by fern, 
dock-leaves, and dark colt’s-foot, of some deep maple swamp, 
it needs the stealthy pace, the slow, cat-like, guarded motion, the 
instinctive knowledge of the ground, the perfect nose, and 
absolute docility, which belong only to the thorough dog of the 
thorough sportsman, to find certainly, and stand staunchly! 
Him, whether he flap up, seen for one second only, among the 
leafless stems, and lost the next among the tufted tops of the 
yet verdant alders; whether he soar away, with his sharp 
whistle, far, far above the red and yellow tree tops; whether he 
pitch now here, now there, sharply and suddenly, among the 
close saplings, it needs the eye of faith, the finger of instinct, 
the steady nerve, the deliberate celerity, the marking glance, 
which characterise the sportsman—the crack shot, who—as 
poor Cypress averred truly—is born like the poet, not made 
like the orator—to cut down at his speed; not wing-tipped or 
leg-broken, but riddled by the concentrated charge, turned 
over and over in mid air, arrested mercifully by quick and 
unerring death, and falling with a heavy thud , which tells good 
things of ten ounces’ weight, on the brown leaves of gorgeous 
autumn. 

My words are weak to describe the full charm of this noble 
pastime—noble, when followed as it should be, in the true ani¬ 
mus and ardor of the chase—but most ignoble when perverted 

to base, culinary, carnal, gluttonous, self-seeking purposes_ 

weak are they, when compared with the vivid and heart-thril¬ 
ling reality—yet even thus, they will have done their duty if they 
succeed in arousing the attention of the true friends of sports¬ 
manship throughout the land, to this most interesting subject. 
Certain it is that the Woodcock returns, whether old or young, to 
the same place where he was bred and where he has reared his 


tJPLAND SHOOTING. 


199 


young, if unmolested. If persecuted and shot off, year after 
year, on his very breeding ground, and while he was in the 
very act of breeding, he will desert that ground altogether. 
Of this, I have seen proof positive. In the immediate vicinity ot 
Warwick, in Orange county, within two miles of the village, 
there are twenty little woods and swamps, each of which used ten 
or twelve years ago to be a certain find in July for two, three or 
more broods of birds. It was easy shooting and easy marking 
ground, and year after year I and my party—at that time no 
one else shot in that region—killed off the whole summer stock, 
clean. The consequence was, that long before the general 
shooting of the district was affected by the march of intellect 
and the growth of railroads, and while birds yet abounded a 
mile or two farther off, those swamps ceased even to hold a 
summer brood. Twenty birds killed in a wood, twenty days 
in succession, injure that wood less as a home for Woodcock 
than ten killed once in July. Hence, as for fifty other reasons, 
I say, if we would have Woodcock shooting at all, away with 
summer shooting—away with all upland shooting, antecedent 
to the first of October, unless you choose to except Snipe, 
although for the exception I can see no reason, unless it is that 
the evil produced by killing them in spring is as yet something 
less crying, and the diminution of their numbers less palpable. 

I had the honor to lay a draft of a petition to the New-York 
legislature on this subject, before the New-York Sportsman’s 
Club in the course of last winter—1846-7—which was taken 
up, and the draft printed. I regret to say that, from prudential 
motives, as it was thought by many good sportsmen, and appre¬ 
hension of difficulty in getting a sufficiency of signatures, action 
on it has been pos poned for the present. 

I am still myself satisfied, that the measure therein proposed, 
or some other nearly akin to it, is the last and only hope left to 
sportsmen of preserving any kind of game, but especially 
Woodcock, among us. 

The domestic habits of the Quail, his haunting homesteads, 
and becoming to some degree a pet of the farmer, and yet 


200 


FRANK FORESTER^ FIELD SPORTS. 


more, his indigenousness to the land, acts in a considerable 
degree as a protection to him. But the A/Vbodcock, who is a 
mere emigrant, here to-day and away to-morrow, has no 
domestic friend, no landlord to protect him, and men forget that 
if spared, he will as surely return to breed in the same wood 
again, bringing all his progeny with him to increase and mul¬ 
tiply, as the tepid winds and warm showers of April and May 
will succeed to the easterly gales and snow drifts of March, and 
the leaves be green in summer from the buds which burst in 
spring. 

My game law, such as it is, will be found in the appendix to 
Upland Shooting. I believe it would be useful as it is, but 
should any sportsman or any society of spoilsmen be able to 
concoct one better either in practice, or in the probability of 
success, I and all my friends, and those who think with me on 
the subject, are prepared to support it. Unity of action is the 
one thing needful; and that cannot be attained if every man 
holds out resolutely for his own crotchet. 

Let the principle once be affirmed and made good, and the 
details are of infinitely minor importance. They will follow. 
For the rest, what is to be done, must be done quickly, or we 
shall be liable to the ridicule which falls on the tardy faineant 
who locks his stable door after the horse is stolen. 

Three or four more seasons like the two last, and the ques¬ 
tion will be settled to our hands, and if we do not bestir 
ourselves now, we shall find ere long that we shall have neither 
summer nor autumn Cock-shooting within a hundred miles of 
the seaboard. 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


201 


UPLAND PLOVER SHOOTING 


ITH the end of July, all that can 
properly he called shooting, as a 
genuine sport, is at an end. The 
Woodcock, as I have already stat¬ 
ed, is no longer to he found, wheth¬ 
er he he lying perdu on the moun¬ 
tain tops, or off on a wilder wing 
for the far north. The Snipe has 
not yet begun to return from his 
arctic breeding places ; the Quail 
is still busy with her eggs, or her fledging cheepers ; and the Ruffed 
Grouse, although her young are already two-thirds grown, is pro¬ 
tected by the game-laws until the first day of November. 

This last protection by the way, is as absurd in point of fact, 
as everything connected with the game laws of the States. 

All the varieties of Grouse are early breeders; their young 
come rapidly to maturity; when full-grown they are as wild as 
hawks ; and at all times, from their own habits, and the peculi¬ 
arity of the ground on which they reside, they take better care 
of themselves, than any other species of winged game. The 
breeding season of these birds commences in May; early in 
June the young birds can fly ; and by the middle of September 
they are full-grown. There is this peculiarity about them, 
moreover, that they do not, as all other birds of this order, 
rasores, with which I am acquainted, keep together in broods or 
coveys until the commencement of the next breeding season ; 
but separate altogether, and ramble about either as single indi¬ 
viduals, or in small parties, during the autumn and winter. 



202 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


After this separation has once taken place, the birds, both 
young and old, are so wild that they will rarely or never lie to 
be pointed by a dog, unless they are found by chance in some 
very dense brake or grass-grown thicket, in which they cannot 
run ; and consequently there is no chance of having any sport 
with them, after they have once ceased to keep company. 
This, I think, they invariably do, before the law permits that 
they should be shot. Consequently, although I have often 
been in regions where they abound, I have never found it worth 
the while to go out to hunt for them especially. They are a 
bird of a very rambling disposition, here to-day and miles off to¬ 
morrow, frequenting the roughest and most inaccessible moun¬ 
tain-sides, evergreen thickets, and woods of hemlock, pine or 
red cedar • and I have never seen, and never expect to see the 
place where a sportsman can be sure of getting a dozen shots 
over points, or even half that number, in a day’s hard walking. 
Add to this, that if the Ruffed Grouse be the particular object 
of pursuit, there is no chance of finding any other species of 
game, unless it be a few Hares ; for the haunts of this solitary 
and mountain-loving misanthrope are too wild and rude for 
the domestic Quail, and too arid for the Woodcock. 

In autumn shooting, stragglers are often met on Quail 
ground, in low thickets, bog-meadow edges, and the like, and 
then they afford good sport, and often make a great addition to 
the bag; but the only way is to take them as you find them, 
and if you find them, be thankful; but never deviate from your 
regular line of beat in order to find, or to follow them ; if you 
do, sure disappointment awaits you. The best day I ever had 
with Ruffed Grouse, was in the low, dense thickets on the edge 
of the Big Piece, in New-Jersey, in the winter of 1837; when 
there were a vast quantity of Quail in that region; but I had 
not the least expectation of finding more than a chance strag¬ 
gler or two of the Grouse. With a friend, however, I bagged 
eight brace of these birds, fairly pointed, which I consider great 
sport , as I have never before or since seen an opportunity of 
doing a quarter of the work, though I have taken long joumevs 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


203 


for the especial purpose of getting this sport in perfection. If 
the law authorized the shooting them in September, or at the 
latest on the first of October, there are many districts of the 
country, where the Ruffed Grouse would afford great sport to 
those, who would take the trouble to pursue them into their 
fastnesses, which requires considerable strength and activity. 

In the meantime, however, while there is no legitimate 
upland shooting to be had—by legitimate, I mean that, which 
is followed with dogs, whether Setter, Pointer or Spaniel, in a 
legitimate and scientific manner—there comes into play, at the 
very critical moment, the “ Bartramian Sandpiper,” better 
known as the “Upland Plover”—“Grass Plover”—“Field Plo¬ 
ver,” or “ Frost Bird”—which as far as a bonne bouche for the 
epicure goes, is inferior in my judgment to no bird that flies, 
unless it be the Canvass-Back; and there, with the Chancellor, 
I doubt / As a game-bird, and object of pursuit, I do not my¬ 
self care about him, the modus operandi does not suit my book, 
or entertain me ; nevertheless, there is much skill displayed in 
circumventing, or as Major Docherty would say, surrounding 
this wily bird, and as frequently a very large number may be 
brought to the bag, it is with some persons a very favorite 
sport. 

This bird, which by the way is not a Plover, though very 
nearly allied to that species, is stated by Mr. Aububon to arrive 
in the Middle States, early in May, to reach Maine by the mid¬ 
dle of that month, to breed from Maryland northward to the 
Sashatchewan, and to winter in Texas and Mexico. 

It is shot, in the Eastern and Middle States, from Massachu¬ 
setts to Pennsylvania, during the months of August and 
September, and in fact, until it is driven southward by the 
frosts; although it is worthy of remark, that it is also killed 
abundantly so far south as the neighborhood of Charleston, S. 
C., as early as the middle of July. The great majority of the 
birds shot in these districts is certainly not composed of those 
only which are bred here ; but is continually swelled by flocks 
coming down successively from the north-eastward, where I 


204 


FRANK FORESTER^ FIELD SPORTS. 


imagine they breed, in far greater quantities than within the 
confines of the States. 

On their arrival here they frequent, wherever such exist, 
wide, upland downs or moors, covered with short, close turf; 
and are found in greater numbers in Rhode Island, in the vicinity 
of Newport, than in any other district with which I am ac¬ 
quainted ; although from the aspect of the country, the nature 
of the soil, and the quality of the grass lands, I cannot doubt but 
that they must exist abundantly along the Atlantic coasts of the 
State of Maine. Comparatively speaking, there are few sp or tin¬ 
men in that region, as is the case in all new countries, where 
men hunt for profit or for provision, not for sport, and where 
the pursuit of the larger animals is so common and so well 
rewarded, as to render the shooting of birds on the wing rare, 
and in the eyes of the community rather ridiculous. The con¬ 
sequence of this is, that the capabilities of the country in a 
sporting view, are unknown; and the species of game, to be 
found in it, almost certainly lost to the sporting world. 

In June, 1840, I saw several of these birds, with young, in 
the immediate vicinity of the city of Bangor ; and I have little 
or no doubt that, were proper means taken, great numbers 
might be procured at the proper season in that region. 

The Field Plover is abundant in the Boston markets during 
the season; and I believe they are sufficiently common to afford 
amusement to the sportsmen of that country, though I am not 
aware in what parts of the State they are most frequent. 

On the plains in the vicinity of Hempstead, Long Island, they 
used to abound; and they still frequent that country, although 
not nearly so numerous as they were some years since. In New 
J ersey they are very rare, owing to the nature, I imagine, of 
the soil, and the face of the country; for these birds are the 
least maritime of their race, and, never, I think, frequent salt 
marshes, or water meadows of any kind ; of which most of the 
low lands in New Jersey consist, while its hills are not open 
sheep-walks, but rocky and wooded fastnesses, equally unfit for 
this Sandpiper’s abode. 


0PLAND SHOOTING. 


205 


"Where vast unenclosed plains are not to be found, this bird 
loves to haunt large hill pastures, fallow-fields, and newly 
ploughed grounds, where it finds the various kinds of insect food 
to which it is so partial,—grasshoppers, beetles, and all the 
small coleopterous flies common to such localities, in the grass 
lands—and worms, small snails, and the like, on the fallows. 

The Upland Plover is a shy and timid bird ; and, on foot, it 
is, for the most part, nearly impossible to approach it. It feeds' 
on ground such as I have described, in small companies—they 
cannot be called flocks , for they do not usually act in concert, 
or fly together, rising, if they are startled, one by one, and each 
taking its own course, without heeding its companions—this, by 
the way, I have noticed as a peculiarity of all the upland scolo- 
pacidcB , none of which fly, so far as I have ever observed, in 
large bodies, wheeling and turning simultaneously, at a signal, 
as is the practice, more or less, of all the maritime Sandpipers, 
Tattlers, Plovers, and Phalaropes. While running swiftly over 
the surface of the ground, they utter a very peculiar and plain¬ 
tive whistle, exceedingly mellow and musical, which has the 
remarkable quality of appearing to be sounded close at hand, 
when it is in reality uttered at a very considerable distance. It 
is this note which frequently gives the first notice to the sports¬ 
man, that he is in the vicinity of the bird; and it also gives him 
notice that the bird is aware of him, and out of his reach; for 
no sooner is it uttered, than the Sandpiper either takes wing at 
once, or runs very rapidly to some distance, and then rising, 
sweeps round and round in aerial circles, and alights again out 
of distance. If wing-tipped, or slightly wounded, it runs so ra¬ 
pidly as to set pursuit at defiance, and then squats behind some 
clod of earth, or tuft of grass, to the colors of which its beauti¬ 
fully mottled plumage so nearly assimilates it, that it cannot be 
distinguished, without great difficulty, among the leaves and 
herbage. 

I have only shot this Sandpiper myself, on a tract of upland 
pasture and ploughed land near to Bristol, in Pennsylvania, 
known as “ Livingston Manor/’ where I found the birds very 


206 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


plentiful, and in excellent condition, during the month of 
August, in the year 1844. The country being closely enclosed 
with stout timber fences, it is impracticable either to drive up 
to them in a two-wheeled carnage, which is by far the prefera¬ 
ble mode of pursuing them, or to stalk them on horseback ; 
although I am of opinion that great sport might be had there 
with a pony that could fence well, and stand fire steadily. The 
men who shoot them for the market there, build bough-houses, 
in which to lie hid, or conceal themselves in the comers of 
maize-fields, or behind any casual hiding-places the country 
may offer, while their companions scatter about the fields, driv¬ 
ing the birds to and fro, and rendering them, of course, exceed¬ 
ingly wild; yet a considerable number are shot thus, as they 
fly over their concealed enemies. This mode of proceeding is, 
of course, unendurable to the sportsman. By the aid of Eley’s 
wire cartridges, red and blue, of No. 6 shot, however, I con¬ 
trived to get moderately good sport, walking about in pursuit 
of them, and taking my chance at those driven over me by other 
parties. I, one day, bagged sixteen birds thus ; but it would 
have been a hundred to one against getting a single Sandpiper, 
with loose shot ; as I am certain that not one bird fell within 
fifty yards of me. 

This Sandpiper flies very swiftly, and when on the wing 
shews like a very large bird, owing to the great length of its 
sharp-pointed wings. At first sight, you would suppose it to be 
as large as a pigeon, although its body is not, in tmth, very 
much larger than that of the common Snipe, or intermediate be¬ 
tween that and the Woodcock, while the extent of its wings 
from tip to tip exceed either of these, by nearly one-fourth. 
Like many other species of wild birds, this Sandpiper is ex¬ 
tremely cunning, and appears to be able to calculate the range 
of a fowling-piece with great nicety; and you will constantly 
find them sitting perfectly at their ease, until a few paces more 
would bring you within shot of them, and then rising, with 
their provoking whistle, just when you believe yourself sure of 
getting a crack at them. In the same manner they will circle 


XJrLAND SHOOTING. 


207 


round you, or fly past you, just out of gunshot, tempting you all 
the time with hopes that will still prove false, unless you have 
some such device as Eley’s cartridges, by which to turn the 
shrewdness of this cunning little schemer to its own destruc¬ 
tion. 

In Rhode Island, where alone the sport is now pursued sys¬ 
tematically, the mode adopted is this,—the shooter, accompa¬ 
nied by a skilful driver, on whom, by the way, the whole onus 
of the business rests, and to whom all the merit of success, if 
attained, is attributable, is mounted in what is termed in New 
England a chaise , that is to say, an old-fashioned gig with a top. 
In this convenience, he kneels down, with his left leg out of the 
carriage, and his foot firmly planted on the step, holding his 
gun ready to shoot at an instant’s notice. The driver, perceiv¬ 
ing the birds, as they are running and feeding on the open sur¬ 
face, selects one, according to his judgment, and drives round it 
rapidly in concentric circles, until he gets within gunshot of it, 
and perceives by its motions that it will not permit a nearer ap¬ 
proach. He then makes a short half turn from it, pulling the 
horse short up, at the same instant; and at that very same in¬ 
stant, for the Sandpiper rises invariably at the moment in which 
the chaise stops, the shooter steps out lightly to the ground, and 
kills his bird, before it has got well upon the wing. In the 
timing of all this various work, on the part of the driver and the 
gunner, there is a good deal of skill requisite, and, of course, a 
good deal of excitement. But the real sport, and the real skill, 
are both on the part of the driver, whose duty it is to deliver 
his marksman as nearly as possible to the game, yet never to 
ran the thing so close, as to allow the Sandpiper to take wing 
before he has pulled up. The difference in the judgment and 
skill of drivers is immense ; and there is one gentleman in New 
York, a well-known, and old friend of the public, who is said to 
be so infinitely superior to all others, that the gun in his chaise, 
even if it be handled by the inferior shot, is sure to come off 
the winner. It is not unusual, I am told, to bag from twenty 
to twenty-five couple of these delicious birds in a day’s sport, 
VOL. i. 16 


208 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


in this manner, and I have heard of infinitely greater quantities 
being brought to bag. 

The record of some almost incredible number, killed by three 
guns, was published last year in the Spirit of the Times, and 
by well-known sportsmen; but I have never tried the sport 
myself, and cannot therefore speak to it. I am told, it is vastly 
exciting and amusing,—but I have been told the same thing 
about lying flat on your back in a battery, off Fire-island Inlet— 
and I can only say, judging from analogy, that it may be very 
well for once or twice, or to kill a few hours when there is no 
other sport to be had, but that it must be awfully slow work, as 
compared with any sort of field shooting, on which the instinct 
and intelligence of dogs can be brought to bear. To see them 
work is, I think, more than half the battle. 

After all, any shooting—except shooting sitting —is better 
than no shooting; and I have no doubt, if I were at Rhode 
Island, in the proper season, I should be found chaising it, as 
eagerly as any body else. I am sure I do not know why I 
should not, since older, and I dare say, better sportsmen than 
myself swear by it. 

This, then, is the connecting link between the autumn and 
spring shooting of the Uplands. For those who like them, Bay 
shooting, at all the varieties of Plovers, Sandpipers, Tattlers, 
Phalaropes, and Curlews, known along shore as “ Bay Snipe,” 
is to be had, in full force, everywhere from Cape Cod, or fur 
ther eastward, to Cape May, during the months of July, August, 
and September; and, in the end of August, Rail shooting com¬ 
mences on the Delaware and adjacent rivers; but of these I 
shall treat in their places,—since the former must be regarded 
as Coast shooting, and the latter cannot be classed with Upland 
sport, although it is only pursued inland. 

With Plover shooting, therefore, the sports of the summer 
months end; and, with the month of October, the jolliest, hear¬ 
tiest month of the whole year, despite of what Mr. Bryant says 
of “ the melancholy days” of autumn, the real season has its 
commencement ; and thereafter the woodlands, the stubbles, 
and the mountain’s-brow, are the true sportsman’s Paradise. 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


209 




SHOOTING. 


UTUMN shooting, 
which is 'par ex¬ 
cellence, the true 
sport of the true 
sportsman, can¬ 
not he said to 
have its begin¬ 
ning on any 
particular day, 
or even in any 

particular month of the season. 

Its commencement is regulated by the return of the Wood¬ 
cock, after its brief August migration ; and, the period of that 
return being uncertain, and dependant on the state of the wea¬ 
ther, and other influences, with which we are not fully ac¬ 
quainted, the sportsman has only to bide his time, and take the 
season as he finds it. 

In truth, the variation of the autumnal season is in this res¬ 
pect very great, as regards both the Woodcock and the Snipe. 
I have shot both of these birds together, in considerable num¬ 
bers, on the same ground, so early as the 12th or 15th of Sep¬ 
tember ; and again, in other seasons, neither the one nor the 
other bird have made their appearance until so late as the mid¬ 
dle of October. 

As a general rule, however, I should say that Woodcock be¬ 
gin to return to the Atlantic States, in ordinary seasons, about 
the middle of September, and the Snipe about the first of Octo- 






FRANK FORESTER'S FIELD SPORTS. 


21 % 

ber,—the latter bird being for the most part a few days behind 
his congener. 

It is very well worthy of remark, both by the sportsman and 
the scientific ornithologist, that on their return in- the autumn, 
neither the Woodcock nor the Snipe are found precisely on 
the same ground, which they use in spring ; and I am inclined 
to believe, that a more thorough investigation of this fact, might 
lead to the acquisition of more knowledge than we possess at 
present, concerning the causes of the migration of our various 
birds of passage. 

In my articles on spring Snipe, and summer Cock shooting, 
I have observed that at these seasons the two birds frequently 
appear to change their habits and haunts mutually ; the former 
being very often found in low brushwood, and among dense 
briar patches, and the latter, even more commonly, on open, 
rushy, water meadows, without a bush or particle of covert in 
the vicinity. 

In no respect does this ever happen in the autumn. I have 
seen no instance myself, nor have I heard of any from the most 
constant and Tegular country sportsman, who have the best op 
portunity of noting such peculiarities, of the Snipe ever resort¬ 
ing even to the thinnest covert on wood-edges, much less to 
dense coppices and tall woodlands, in the autumn. Nor have I 
ever seen a Woodcock on open meadow in that season. 

In Salem county, in New Jersey, this latter fact is very 
strongly demonstrated; inasmuch as during the summer the 
birds are hunted entirely, and four-fifths of them killed, on what 
would elsewhere be called regular Snipe ground, or in small 
brakes along the dykes and river margins ; and there is no finer 
summer Cock ground than this county, in the whole State. 

In the autumn, on the contrary, when the bird seeks other lo¬ 
calities, there is little or no covert, such as he loves, to be found 
in Salem, and of consequence, there is little or no autumn Cock 
shooting to be had in the southern district of New Jersey. 

The Snipe, on his arrival, betakes himself at once to the same 
ranges of country, and the same meadows, as in the spring* 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


211 


and, with the sole exception that it is entirely useless to look 
for him in coppices, or along springy woodsides, as I have re¬ 
commended in wild weather in spring, his haunts and habits 
are precisely the same. 

He is more settled, not being now hurried in point of time, 
or busied about the pleasures of courtship, or the cares of nidi- 
fication. He lies harder before the dog, does not fly so far 
when flushed, and feels little or no inclination to ramble about, 
but adheres steadily to one feeding ground, unless driven away 
from it by persecution, until the hard frosts of winter compel 
him to betake himself to the rice-fields of Georgia, and the 
muddy margins of the warm savannah. 

Moreover, the weather itself being at this time steadier, and 
less mutable, the birds are much less often forced to move from 
one part of the country to another, by the fitness or unfitness of 
the ground. In spring one year the meadows are too wet, and 
another perhaps too dry,—both conditions being at times car¬ 
ried to such an excess, as to drive the birds off altogether, from 
the impossibility of feeding or lying comfortably. In the autumn 
this is rarely, if ever, the case ; and although autumn shooting 
is, of course, in some degree variable—Snipe being more abun¬ 
dant one year than another—it never has occurred, within my 
observation, that the flight passes on altogether without pausing, 
or giving some chance of sport, more or less, as is not very un¬ 
usually the consequence of a series of droughts or rains in the 
spring. 

The Woodcock, on his return from the northward, or his des¬ 
cent from the mountain-tops, never, as a general rule, returns 
precisely to the same feeding grounds which he prefers in sum ¬ 
mer, during the extreme heats, but appears to prefer dry hill¬ 
sides, sloping to the sun, southerly or westward, and to choose 
woods of young saplings, or sprouts, as they are commonly 
called in this country, tall, wet maple groves, and second 
growth of oak, adjacent to brook or meadow feeding grounds, 
rather than the dense coppice, and that variety of brakes and in¬ 
tervales, or glades, which he loves the best in July. Thispecu- 


212 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


liarity renders him a more agreeable object of pursuit at this 
period of the year, the rather that he is now found often in 
company with bevies of Quail, and that almost invariably the 
latter bird, when flushed in the stubbles where he feeds, flies 
for shelter to the very covert most haunted by the Woodcock. 

All this will, however, vaiy more or less, according to the 
nature and face of the country; for where there is excellent 
feeding and breeding ground, not interspersed with the ferny 
hill-sides, overgrown with young, thrifty, thickset woodland, 
Cock do not desert the region, but are found almost in the same 
haunts as in summer. 

And where that is the case, the sportsman may note this dis¬ 
tinction, that whereas in summer, when he has once killed off 
clean the whole of the one, two, or three broods, which frequent 
a small piece of coppice, or swamp thicket, it will be utterly 
useless for him to beat it again, he may now, day after day, kill 
every bird on a piece of good feeding ground, and will still 
each succeeding morning find it supplied with its usual com¬ 
plement. 

I first learned this fact in Orange county, where, within half 
a mile of the tavern at which I put up, there is a small, dry, 
thorny brake, with a few tall trees on it, lying on a sort of 
island, surrounded by a very wet bog meadow, and half encir¬ 
cled by a muddy streamlet, overhung with thick alders, the 
whole affair, brake, meadow, and all, not exceeding three or 
four acres. 

I knew the place of old as a certain summer-find for a single 
brood of Cock. In October, on the first day of my visit to the 
• country, I beat this brake, at throwing off in the morning, and 
bagged eleven fine fall birds—being four or five more than I 
expected—two birds went away wild without being shot at, and 
could not be found again. On the following day, having finished 
my beat early, and it not being above a mile out of my way 
home, I thought I would try to get the two survivors, and was 
much and most agreeably surprised at bagging nine birds, all 
that were flushed, on the spot. 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


213 


Being quite certain that these were new comers, and the 
oiake being a very pretty and easy place in which to get shots, 
and mark birds, I beat it regularly, either going out, or coming 
home, every day during my stay in the country, and bagged 
upon it, in all, sixty-three birds in six successive days. 

This is now very many years ago, but I noted the fact from 
its singularity at the time ; and I have since observed, that in 
certain highly favored places, this may be regularly looked for; 
and I would never recommend a sportsman, shooting late in the 
autumn, particularly after the nights have begun to be frosty, to 
decline trying a likely piece of ground, a second, or even a 
third or fourth time, because he has already swept it clear of 
Woodcock. It does not, of course, follow of all ground whatso¬ 
ever ; but of all that ground which is the most beloved by the 
bird, it is unquestionably true that it will be filled, and refilled, 
many times in succession. 

This is certainly a curious fact, and one for which it is diffi¬ 
cult to account, by any reasonable mode of explanation. The 
succession of so many birds, is in itself singular, it not being at 
all apparent where is the reservoir from which the current is 
supplied. It was not, in the case I have named, from other 
woods in the neighborhood, of slightly inferior excellence, as 
feeding ground, for these were not deserted ; and, if we suppose 
that the fresh supplies came in consecutively from the north¬ 
ward by long flights, how should they have been able to time 
themselves so exactly, as to come on the very nights when the 
haunt was vacant, and at their service ? 

On the other hand, if we adopt the idea that the descent is 
only from the neighboring mountain tops, why should these wait 
patiently until the others were killed off to their hands, instead 
of pouring down into the place in a body, and there remaining 
until the supply of food, which renders it so favorite a haunt, 
should be exhausted ? 

Such, however, is invariably the case in such localities, and I 
never but once in my life observed anything like a flock of these 
birds. That once, in a very wet place, on the edge of a heavy 


214 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


swamp, where a large spring, which never freezes, bursts out 
and percolates through the vegetable soil for a distance of a 
hundred yards, or a little more, before gathering itself into a 
single channel, I saw at least a hundred birds rise within three 
minutes. It was very late in the season, the 6th or 8th of No¬ 
vember, and sharp frost had already set in, and it was so late 
in the afternoon that it was almost dark. I was shooting with 
a friend, who had a young dog which could not be controlled 
from running in; and all the birds were flushed at two rises, 
each of us getting two double shots. The Woodcock settled 
down all over the large swamp, but it was too dark to follow 
them; and the next morning, it having been an intensely hard 
black frost at night, not a bird was to be found in the country 

Had we come upon that flight earlier in the day, and with old 
steady dogs, the sport might have been incalculable. 

I have always believed, however, that to be an instance of 
actual migration; and I am well satisfied all those birds had 
dropped in, from a long flight from the north, whence they had 
been expelled by the severe cold, with no intention of stopping 
longer than to recruit themselves by a single day’s repose. 
After that night no more birds were seen in that part of the 
country, until the breaking of the ensuing winter. 

One other point appears to be worthy of remark, with regard 
to the autumnal migration of Cock, on their way southward, 
namely, that sometimes, particularly when the winter sets in 
unusually early and severe on the sea-board, and south of the 
mountains, the flight of Cock come down all nearly at once, and 
in one direction, avoiding whole ranges of country, and abso¬ 
lutely swarming in other regions. A few seasons since, when 
the northern and river counties, so far down as Rockland, were 
covered with snow, which lay two or three days, in the first 
week of October, no more Woodcock were found that autumn 
in that district, or in Eastern New Jersey, quite down to the 
sea, while they literally abounded on the eastern side of the 
Hudson, and were killed in profusion throughout Westchester, 
and even within a few miles of New York city. 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


215 


The cause of this, I suppose to be explicable thus,—that there 
is, in fact, always a two-fold migration of Woodcock in the 
autumn, that of the birds bred in these districts, which, having 
absented themselves during the moult, return immediately, that 
over, to the vicinity of their resting-places, and remain through¬ 
out the autumn,—and that of the birds bred very far north of 
us, which tarry at the north so long as the weather will permit, 
and then visit us for a few days, more or less, according to the 
state of the country and the temperature, but never make any 
protracted sojourn with us. 

In such a case as that which I have mentioned, the home-bred 
birds are probably driven southward at once by the temporary 
local snow-storm, while the northern flights, not having been 
forced to move, tarry till the last, and then hurry off, pitching 
only for a single day to rest themselves, and resuming their 
progress every night. 

Woodcock and Snipe both, it is hardly necessary to observe, 
are in a great measure nocturnal birds, and almost invariably 
make all their long voyages, and usually even their casual trips 
from one feeding ground to another, between sunset and sun¬ 
rise. I have occasionally seen Snipe travelling high in the air, 
in small whisps, during the day time in dark foggy weather 
with small rain falling : but I have never known Woodcock to 
move their quarters, unless violently aroused, until it is almost 
too dark to distinguish them on the wing. 

The weather, in which both these swift passengers love best 
to roam, is dull, hazy, and sometimes even rainy, and that com¬ 
monly on the breaking of a north-easterly storm. This is par¬ 
ticularly the case with the Snipe, and in the spring. In fact, I 
have never known them abundant on the meadows until after 
two or three days cold heavy rain, and to there having been no 
such storm this present year, I attribute, in a great measure, 
the extreme scarcity of Snipe. 

It is a little singular, however, that, while these birds prefer 
thick and hazy weather, they almost always choose moonlight 
nights, and fly most when the moon is near the full. When 


21G 


FRANR. ORESTER’s FIELD SPORTS. 


the sportsman is so fortunate as to find himself favored with 
that most delicious to the senses, and most lovely to the eye, of 
all weather, which we know as Indian Summer, at the full 
of the October moon, he may count himself almost certain 
of finding the coverts well stocked with Woodcock I have 
frequently acted on this indication myself, and, in spite of being 
warned by letters from the country that Cock had not come on, 
have set out from the city, relying on the combination of the 
purple haze with the full October moon, veiled in soft silver for 
the nonce, and have rarely been disappointed of good sport. 

In all other respects, the pursuit of Woodcock, the mode of 
hunting them, and the style of killing them, differ in nothing 
now from the methods to be used in summer. The birds are, 
of course, far stronger on the wing, as they are now full grown, 
and instead of dodging about in the bushes and dropping with¬ 
in twenty yards of the muzzle of a gun just discharged, will 
soar away over the tree tops, and sometimes fly half a mile at 
a stretch. 

The difficulty of killing them, is therefore increased, although 
the absence of the green leaf affords a fairer view of them, and 
the man who makes a large bag must depend more on snap 
shots than on fair chances over steady points. 

In this place it will not be improper to insert a slight notice 
and description of the mode generally adopted for the killing or 
Woodcock in Louisiana, Mississippi and the other Southwestern 
States, by what is termed “ Fire-liunting.” 

This practice is resorted to, in some degree, as a matter of 
necessity, owing to the fact that, in these regions which are the 
favorite winter home of the bird in question, he frequents 
during the day only the most impracticable cane-brakes and 
morasses, from which it is only by dint of the severest labor 
that he can be dislodged. 

Until very recently no other mode of shooting Woodcock 
was practised at all in these states, as it was regarded as im¬ 
possible to pursue them with any success during the day time 
in their gloomy and difficult fastnesses. Of late years, however, 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


217 


as might have been expected, it has been demonstrated by- 
good sportsmen, that Cock can be killed over Setters—Spaniels 
would doubtless be yet preferable—in those states as else¬ 
where, and the correct, legitimate and sportsmanlike method of 
hunting them with dogs is, of consequence, coming into vogue 
soon, I doubt not, entirely to supersede the “ Fire-hunting’ 
system, which although it may be good fun enough, for once or 
twice, can only be regarded as a species of poaching, or pot¬ 
hunting ; palliated or perhaps in some sort legitimatized by 
the necessities of the case. 

Throughout this region, as I have said, during the day this 
more than half nocturnal bird is not to be seen at all without the 
confines of the dense and tangled brakes on the edges of the 
deep bayous and morasses, never flying abroad into the open, 
and contenting itself with nibbling the mud, and picking up a 
little chance food in its lurking places. 

No sooner is it dark, however, than out the Woodcocks come 
by thousands from their fastnesses, and, pitching down on all 
sides in the old fields and maize-stubbles, apply themselves to 
nibbling and boring in the soft, rich loam for their succulent 
worm-diet. 

Hereupon the fire-hunt commences—with gun and game-bag, 
powder-flask and shot-pouch, and all appliances and means 
secundum artem , the sportsman sallies forth; but no silky-haired, 
high-strung, sagacious Setter, no satin-skinned, rat-tailed, obe¬ 
dient Pointer follows his master’s heel. In lieu of Don or 
Sancho, an old, crafty, grizzle-pated, merry negro, comes forth, 
equipped with the brazen vessel of a warming-pan, or the like 
instrument, set erect on a pole of some ten or twelve feet in 
length, filled with light wood, pine knots, or such like bright, 
burning combustibles. 

Arrived on the feeding ground, a light is applied; the quick 
fuel sends out a broad, ruddy glare ; and, as the bearer slowly 
circumambulates the field, a circle of intense lustre is shed for 
ten yards around him. rendering every object more clearly 
visible than at noon-day. The shooter walks close to the fire- 


218 


FRANK FORESTERS FIELD SPORTS. 


bearer, on his light hand, and ever and anon as the circular 
glare passes along over the surface of the ground, his eye 
detects the Woodcock, crouching close to the earth, and gazing 
with its full, fascinated eye upon the strange illumination. 
The next instant up it springs, dizzy and confused and soaring 
upward toward the light. It is seen for a second, and then is 
lost in the surrounding darkness; but of that one quick second 
the sportsman takes advantage; and by a snap shot cuts him 
down, with a light charge; never killing a bird at above ten 
paces distant, and often bagging his hundred in a single even¬ 
ing’s work. 

This mode of Cock-shooting, arises, as it is evident, ex neces¬ 
sitate rei, and may for awhile be sufficiently exciting. It must, 
however, lack all that variety, which is the great charm of our 
northern shooting ; variety, which arises from the working of 
the emulous, obedient, and well-trained dogs, in observing 
whose exquisite instinct, fine attitudes and beautiful docility, 
me judice , lies half the pleasure of field sports; and which, 
together wiih the lovely scenery, the brisk, breezy air, and the 
exulting sense of personal independence, and personal power 
springing from these and from the glow of cheerful exercise, 
renders them to active, energetic and enthusiastic minds the 
first of pleasures, and almost a necessary relief from the dull 
monotony of every-day existence. 

This brings us to Quail shooting, and to what is the climax 
of all our field sports, that mixed, wild, autumn shooting, in one 
day of which, the laborious woodman may kill on one range, 
Quail, Woodcock, Ruffed Grouse, Hare, Snipe, and some two 
or three varieties of Wild Duck. 

I have had many a good day’s sport in many countries, but 
above everything that I have ever seen, or expect to see again, 
give me a day of rough and tumble autumn shooting, such as 
it was ten years ago in Orange county, and such as it may per¬ 
haps be again, for a short time, when the Erie railroad shall 
first give us access to the southern tier of counties. Me judice, 
there is nothing like it in the wild world. 


UPLAND SHOOTING, 


219 


QUAIL SHOOTING. 


HAVE already, under my list of Upland 
Game, given a full description of this 
lovely little bird from the pages of Audu¬ 
bon and Wilson. 

Both of these authors lean to the south¬ 
ern fashion of calling this bird a Par¬ 
tridge. Now the truth of the matter is 
simply this, that the bird in question is 
'properly and accurately neither one nor the other, but a distinct 
species, possessing no English name whatever. The ornitholo¬ 
gical name of the Partridge is Perdix, of the Quail Coturnix , of 
the American bird, distinct from either, Ortyx. The latter 
name being the Greek word, as Coturnix is the Latin word, 
meaning Quail. It is, of course, impossible to talk about kill¬ 
ing Ortyxes, or more correctly Ortyges , we must therefore, 
perforce call these birds either Quail or Partridge. 

Now as both the European Partridges are considerably more 
than double the size of the American bird, as they are never in 
any country migratory , and as they differ from the Ortyx in not 
having the same woodland habits, in cry and in plumage; while 
in size, and in being a bird of passage, the European Quail 
exactly resembles that of America; resembling it in all other 
respects far more closely than the Partridge proper—I canno 
for a moment hesitate in saying that American Quail is the 
correct and proper English name for the Ortyx Virginiana , and 
I conceive that the naturalists who first distinguished him from 
the Quail with which he was originally classed, sanction this 




220 


FRANK FORESTER^ FIELD SPORTS. 


.English nomenclature by giving him a scientific title directly 
analogous to Quail, and not to Partridge. 

I should as soon think myself of calling the bird a Turkey as 
a Partridge, and I shall ever hold that the question is entirely 
set at rest, and that the true name of this dear little bird in the 
vernacular is American Quail ; and his country has better rea¬ 
son to be proud of him, than she has of many of her sons who 
make much more noise in the world than our favorite Bob- 
White. 

While on this subject, I may observe—for the benefit of our 
northern sportsmen, many of whom I have heard positively 
assert that the Quail is not migratory—that eveiy where west 
of the Delaware he is as distinctly a bird of migration as the 
Woodcock, and the farther west the more palpably so. Why 
he loses these habits with us of the Middle States I cannot 
guess, nor has any naturalist so much as alluded to the fact, 
which is nevertheless indisputable. 

It will be seen at once, from the foregoing description, that 
our American Quail is a most beautiful little bird; but his 
beauties do not consist merely in his plumage, but in his gait, 
his pretty pert movements, his great vivacity, his joyous atti¬ 
tudes, his constant and cheerful activity. 

He is in aH respects the most social, the merriest, and most 
amiable of his tribe. During the breeding season, he alone, of 
the gallinaceous tribe, makes wood and mead resound with 
his shrill, merry whistle, whence our country folk have framed 
to him a name Bob - 1 Vhitc , from some fancied similarity of 
sound, cheering his faithful partner during the toils of incu¬ 
bation. 

Afterward, when the bevies are collected, as he runs from 
the huddle in which he has passed the night, he salutes his 
bretlnen, peihaps thanks his Creator, for the pleasant dawn, 
with the most cheerful noise that can be fancied, a short, quick, 
ha PPy cheeping, “ and seems to be,” to borrow the words of 
the inimitable Audubon, I quote from memory alone, “the 
happiest little creature in the universe.” 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


221 


The Quail is not only the most sociable of his tribe in refer¬ 
ence to his fellows, but is by far the most tameable and friendly 
in his disposition as regards the general enemy and universal 
tyrant, man. 

In the winter season, when the ground is so deeply covered 
with snow as to render it impossible for them to obtain their 
customary food, the seeds namely of the various grasses, which 
they love the most, or the grains which lie scattered in the stub¬ 
bles, they come naturally into the vicinity of man’s dwellings; 
and it is by no means an unusual sight to perceive them run¬ 
ning about among the domestic fowls in the barn-yard, and 
flying up, if suddenly disturbed, to perch under the rafters of 
some bam or out-house, seemingly fearless, and confident, in 
such seasons, of protection. 

During the whole of last winter, I had a bevy of thirteen 
birds, lying within three or four hundred yards of the room in 
which I sit writing, under the shelter of a rough, wooded bank, 
whereon I fed them with buckwheat after the heavy snows had 
fallen ; and they became so tame, that they would allow me to 
approach within twenty paces of the spot where they were fed, 
running about and picking up the triangular seeds, perfectly 
unconcerned at my presence. As soon, however, as the spring 
commenced, and the bevy separated themselves into pairs, their 
wild habits returned upon them; and I have seen no more of 
my little friends. 

The Quail pairs in the month of March, or even earlier, if 
the winter has been a mild one, and the ground at that period 
is free from its snowy winter covering; if, on the contrary 
the spring is very late and backward, his courtship is deferred 
until April. 

As soon as he has chosen to himself a mate, the happy pair 
retreat to wide, open, rushy meadows, where the conformation 
of the country affords them such retirement, among the tussocks 
of which they love to bask in the spring sunshine. Where the 
land lies higher, and is broken into knolls and gulleys, you will 
find them at this season on the grassy banks beside some shel- 


222 


FRANK FORESTER'S FIELD SPORTS. 


tered hedge-row, or along the green and shrubby margin 
some sequestered streamlet; but never in thick woodlands, and 
rarely in open fields. 

Most birds, so soon as they have paired, proceed at once to 
the duties of nidification and the rearing of their young; it 
seems to me, however, that the Quail spend some time in pairs 
before proceeding to this task; for I have frequently seen 
them in pairs so early as the twentieth of March, yet I have 
never found the Hen sitting, or a nest with eggs in it, during 
spring Snipe shooting, though I have often flushed the paired 
birds on the same ground with the long-billed emigrants. 

I have never, indeed, seen a Quail’s nest earlier than the 
middle of May, and have often found them sitting as late as the 
end of July. 

Their nest is inartificial, made of grasses, and situate for the 
most part under the shelter of a stump or tussock in some wild 
meadows, or near the bushy margin of some clover field or 
orchard. The Hen lays from ten to two-and-twenty eggs, and 
is relieved at times, in hatching them, by the male bird ; who 
constantly keeps guard around her, now sitting on the bough of 
the nearest tree, now perched on the top rail of a snake fence, 
making the woods and hills resound with his loud and cheery 
whistle. 

The period of the Quails’ incubation, I do not know correctly ; 
the young birds run the moment they burst from the egg; and 
it is not uncommon to see them tripping about with pieces of 
the shell adhering to their backs. 

The first brood hatched, and fairly on foot, the hen proceeds 
at once to the preparation of a second nest; and committing 
the care of the early younglings to her mate, or rather dividing 
with him the duties of rearing the first, and hatching the second 
bevy, she devotes herself incessantly to her maternal duties. 

So far as I can ascertain, the Quail almost invariably raises a 
second, and sometimes, I believe, even a third brood in a single 
season. Hence, if unmolested, they increase with extraordinary 
rapidity, when the seasons are propitious. It is, however 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


223 


equally certain that, under other circumstances, they suffer more 
severely in this region of country, than any other bird of game ; 
and that in unfavorable seasons they run great danger of being 
altogether annihilated. The fear of this result has led to what 
I consider hasty and inconsiderate legislation on the subject. 

Long severe snows, when the country is buried many feet 
deep, and he can procure no sustenance, save from the preca^ 
rious charity of man, famishes him outright—heavy drifts, espe 
cially when succeeded by a partial thaw, and a frost following 
the thaw, stifles him, in whole bevies encased in icy prison 
houses. 

It is the peculiar habit of this bird to lie still, squatted in con¬ 
centric huddles, as they are technically called, composed of the 
whole bevy, seated like the radii of a circle, with their tails in¬ 
ward, so long as snow, sleet, or rain continues to fall. So soon 
as it clears off, and the sun shines out, with a simultaneous 
effort, probably at a preconcerted signal, they all spring up at 
once with an impetus and rush, so powerful, as carries them 
clear through a snow-drift many feet in depth ; unless it be 
skinned over by a frozen crust, which is not to be penetrated by 
their utmost efforts. In this latter case, where the storm has 
been general over a large extent of country, the Quail are not 
unfrequently so near to extinction, that but a bevy or two will 
be seen for years, on ground where previously they have been 
found in abundance; and at such times, if they be not spared 
and cherished, as they will be by all true sportsmen, they may 
be destroyed entirely throughout a whole region. 

This was the case especially, through all this section of the 
country, in the tremendous winter of 1835-’36, when these birds, 
which had been previously very abundant, were almost annihi¬ 
lated ; and would have been so, doubtless, but for the anxiety 
which was felt generally, and the energetic means which were 
taken to preserve them. 

Another peril, which at times decimates the breed for a sea¬ 
son, is a sudden and violent land-flood in June and July, which 
drowns the young broods ; or a continuance of cold, showery, 

VOL. i. 17 


224 


FRANK FORESTER S FIELD SPORTS. 


weather, in those and the preceding months, which addles the 
eggs, and destroys the early bevy. This is, however, but a par¬ 
tial evil,—as the Quail rears a second brood, and, as I have be¬ 
fore observed, sometimes a third; so that in this case the num¬ 
ber of birds for the season is diminished, without the tribe being 
endangered. 

The open winters, which have prevailed latterly, have been 
exceedingly favorable to the increase of this beautiful and pro 
lific little bird. Never, perhaps, have they been more abundant 
than they were last autumn; and as the winter has been in all 
respects the most propitious ever known, there having been 
scarcely a single fall of snow of any magnitude, and no crust in 
any instance to molest them, there is every likelihood of a fine 
stock next autumn being raised throughout the Middle States. 

A little judicious legislation—a little energy combined with 
careful consideration of the subject, and mutual concession on 
the part of true sportsmen, might possibly now preserve this 
very interesting native American from the total extinction that 
threatens him. 

It is quite clear, that neither idle good wishes, nor faineant 
despair, will do so. One bad winter, and the present state of 
things, will settle the question for us,—but the wrong way ! 

Unlike the young broods of the Woodcock, which are mute, 
save the twitter with which they rise, the bevies of Quail appear 
to be attached to each other by tender affection. If dispersed 
by accidental causes, either in pursuit of their food, or from 
being flushed by some casual intruder, so soon as their first 
alarm has passed over, they begin calling to each other with a 
small plaintive note, quite different from the amorous whistle 
of the male bird, and from their merry daybreak cheeping; and, 
each one running toward the sound, and repeating it at inter¬ 
vals, they soon collect themselves together into one happy little 
family, the circle of which remains unbroken, until the next 
spring, with the genial weather, brings matrimonial ardors, pair¬ 
ing and courtship, and the hope of future bevies. 

If, however, the ruthless sportsman has been among them. 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


225 


with his well-trained Setter and unerring gun, so that death has 
sorely thinned their numbers, they will protract their little call 
for their lost comrades, even to night-fall; and in such cases— 
I know not if it be a fancy on my part—there has often seemed 
to me to be an unusual degree of melancholy in their wailing 
whistle. 

Once this struck me especially. I had found a small bevy of 
thirteen birds in an orchard, close to the house in which I was 
passing a portion of the autumn, and in a very few minutes 
killed twelve of them, for they lay hard in the tedded clover, 
and it was perfectly open shooting. The thirteenth and last 
bird, rising with two others, which I killed right and left, flew 
but a short distance, and dropped among some sumachs in the 
corner of a rail fence. I could have shot him certainly enough, 
but some undefined feeling induced me to call my dogs to heel, 
and spare his little life ; yet afterward I almost regretted what 
I certainly intended at the time to be mercy ; for day after day, 
so long as I remained in the country, I heard his sad call, from 
morn till dewy eve, crying for his departed friends, and full 
apparently of memory, which is, alas! but too often another 
name for sorrow. 

It is a singular proof how strong is the passion for the chase, 
and the love of pursuit, implanted by nature in the heart of 
man, that however much, when not influenced by the direct 
heat of sport, we deprecate the killing of these little birds, and 
pity the individual sufferers,—the moment the dog points, and 
the bevy springs, or the propitious morning promises good 
sport, all the compunction is forgotten in the eagerness and 
emulation which are natural to our race. 

It is also worthy of remark, that in spite of his apparent 
tameness at peculiar seasons, and his willingness to be half na¬ 
turalized, the Quail has hitherto defied all attempts at perfect 
domestication, and has, I believe, never been known to breed 
in confinement,—this peculiarity going, perhaps, some way to 
render him fair game. 

Of all birds, in this or any other country, so far as I know 


226 FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SFORTS. 

from personal experience, or have heard from others more com¬ 
petent to pronounce on the subject, the Quail is the most diffi¬ 
cult both to find and to kill with certainty. 

Bred in the open fields, and feeding early in the morning, 
and late in the afternoon, on buckwheat and other grain stub¬ 
bles, during all the rest of the day, the bevies lie huddled up to¬ 
gether in little knots, either in some small thorny brake, or 
under the covert of the grassy tussocks in some bog meadow. 

The small compass that each bevy occupies, while thus indo¬ 
lently digesting their morning meal, renders it very easy for the 
best dogs to pass within six yards of them, without discovering 
their whereabout; and, consequently, even where the country 
is well stocked with bevies, it is not an uncommon thing to toil 
a whole day through, without raising one-half the birds which 
have fed in the morning on your range. 

Again, when flushed in the open, these birds immediately fly 
to the thickest and most impenetrable covert they can find ; and 
in some sections of the country in which I have shot, Maryland 
especially, that covert is of such a nature, so interwoven with 
parasitic creepers, cat briars, and wild vines, and so thickly set 
with knotted and thorny brushwood, that they can run with im¬ 
punity before the noses of your Pointers or Setters, and that, 
without the aid of cocking Spaniels, which are little used in the 
United States, they cannot be forced to take wing. 

These birds have another singular quality, which renders 
them exceedingly difficult to find, even when they have been ac¬ 
curately marked down after being once flushed. It is, that for 
some considerable time after they have alighted, they give forth 
no scent whatsoever, and that the very best dogs will fail to give 
any sign of their presence. 

Whether this retention of scent is voluntary on the part of the 
bird, it is very difficult to ascertain. It is a very strange power, 
if it be voluntary, yet not more strange than many others of the 
instincts possessed by wild animals. 

There is one thing which would lead to the conclusion that it 
is voluntary, or at least that the bird is conscious of the fact. 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


227 


This is, that under these circumstances, the birds will not rise 
at all, until they are literally almost trodden upon. It was very 
long before I could bring myself to b'elieve in the existence of 
this singular power of suppression ; and very many times, after 
having marked down a bevy to a yard in favorable ground, and 
having failed to start them, I have left the place, concluding 
that they had taken to the trees, or risen again unseen by me, 
when I am satisfied, had I waited half an hour before proceed¬ 
ing to beat for them, I might have had good sport. I will here 
observe, that although Quail do, beyond doubt, occasionally 
take the tree, in certain localities, and in some kinds of weather, 
still so far as my experience goes, they do so rarely when pur¬ 
sued, and then rather in consequence of some particular habit 
of a single bevy, than of any natural instinct of the bird. 

Once again—and I have done with the difficulties of finding— 
particular bevies, endowed with that singular craft, which ap¬ 
proaches so very nearly to reason, that it hardly can be distin¬ 
guished therefrom, will fly when flushed, invariably for many 
days and weeks in succession, to some one small out-of-the-way 
nook, or clump of briars, so long as that nook is undiscovered, 
thus baffling all attempts to find them. 

In one instance, while shooting in the vale of Warwick, with 
an old comrade, when returning home late in the evening, and 
when within two hundred yards of his hospitable tavern, he said 
he thought he could start a bevy by the stream side, where he 
had observed that they often roosted. 

Accordingly we went to the place, and had not gone ten yards 
into the bogs, before the Setters, of which we had three, all 
came to their point simultaneously, and a large bevy of sixteen 
or eighteen birds jumped up before them. We got in our four 
barrels, and killed four birds handsomely; and marked the 
birds over the comer of a neighboring wood, lowering their 
flight so rapidly, that we had no doubt of finding them on a 
buckwheat stubble, surrounded by thick sumach bushes, and 
briary hedges, which lay just beyond the grove. 

We hunted till it was quite dark, however, without moving 


228 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


the birds. On going out the next morning, we drew the bogs 
blank, and it became evident that they had roosted in the place, 
wherever it was, to which they had flown, on being disturbed. 

We set off, therefore, again in that direction, hoping to find 
them on their feeding ground, but spent the greater part of the 
morning trying for them in vain. 

We then took our dogs in a different direction; and after a 
day’s sport—whether good, bad, or indifferent, I do not now 
remember—again found our bevy in the same bogs,—killed a 
brace of them only, in consequence of their rising wild, and the 
evening having grown dark, and again marked them over the 
same wood corner—the birds literally flying over the top of 
the very same crimson maple which they had crossed the pre¬ 
vious evening. 

It was too late to look farther after them that night, and i 
knew that they would not be in the bogs on the following morn¬ 
ing,—we took, therefore, a different beat, and heard no more of 
my bevy. 

On the third day, however, being piqued by the escape of 
these birds, I determined to spare no pains to find their hiding- 
places. We proceeded accordingly to the bogs, the first thing 
in the morning, found them before they had quitted their roost, 
and drove them for the third time over the top of the same red 
maple. 

These birds, be it observed, were on my old companion’s 
own farm, every inch of which we knew thoroughly, and on 
which there was not a brake, or tuff of rushes, likely to harbor 
a single bird, much less a bevy, with which we were not ac¬ 
quainted. 

We spent four hours beating for these birds again in vain, 
and left the ground in disgust and despair. 

In returning home, however, that night, we recrossed the 
same fields; and expecting nothing less than to find game, I 
was walking down the side of a snake-fence, along which grew 
a few old apple-trees, with my dogs pretty well fagged at my 
heel, and my gun across my shoulder. Suddenly out of the 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


229 


mouth of an old cellar, over which a cottage had stood in past 
days, up whirled a bevy of Quail, and away over the very same 
tree-top, but now in the opposite direction. 

On examining the cellar, the inside of which was filled with 
briars and weeds, we found conclusive proof in the numerous 
droppings of the birds, that they had been in the constant habit 
of sitting therein, attracted thither probably, in the first instance, 
by the apples which had fallen into the hollow from the trees 
overhead. 

It was as yet but early in the afternoon, and we were so near 
home that we got fresh dogs, and went to work at them again 
in the bogs, where we originally found them. Some time had 
elapsed, and they had run together into a single knot, rose 
again very wild, and flew directly back to the old hiding-place. 

Thither we followed them at once, flushed them therein, 
proving most unequivocally that they had always lain jperdu in 
the same small spot, and drove them out into the open. 

It was too dark by this time to pursue them any longer; and 
afterward, though we found them constantly in different parts 
of the bog meadow, neither as a body, nor as single birds, did 
they ever betake themselves again to the cellar for refuge. 

Had I not accidentally blundered on that place, when think¬ 
ing of anything rather than of the birds, I might have hunted 
for a month over the ground without finding them. From the 
cavity, and the narrowness of the mouth, a dog might have gone 
within a yard of it without scenting them ; and I have no doubt 
that mine had been more than once within that distance of 
them. 

And here I have done with the difficulty of finding, which by 
he way is not the least step toward killing our bird. 

It is, however, little less difficult to kill when found, than to 
find in the first instance. When first flushed the bevy rise with 
such a whirring and tumultuous noise that they are very apt to 
flutter the nerves of a young sportsman ; and if they rise very 
close to the shooter, I have often seen even tolerably good shots 
discharge both their barrels fruitlessly, from doing so much too 
quickly. 


230 FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 

This is not, however, by any means the difficulty to which I 
allude, as an old and steady shot is of course presumed to be 
proof against such tremors; and in the open field, under ordi¬ 
nary circumstances, ought, generally, to kill his double shot 
out of every bevy that is pointed and flushed within fifteen or 
twenty paces. 

The case becomes, however, altogether different after the 
birds have become scattered in coppice, or yet worse, in high 
saplings, the very thickest part of which they most affect, after 
being once disturbed. 

There is no bird, which I have ever seen that can in the 
slightest degree compare with the Quail for the rapidity with 
which it takes wing, and the short space which it requires to get 
under full headway. It really is wonderful to observe the ex¬ 
traordinary speed and command of wing with which this bird 
will dart through the most intricate and tangled brake, yet J 
have never seen a single instance of their flying foul of a tree 
or getting entangled in a thicket, as will sometimes happen to 
the Ruffed Grouse, and much more frequently to the European 
Pheasant. 

The Quail flies, as I have said, with extreme rapidity in a di¬ 
rect line, rather ascending for the most part, but rarely or 
never dodging and pitching to and fro like a Snipe or Wood¬ 
cock. It has a habit likewise if not pointed, of lying hard until 
you have passed it, and then flirting up behind your back; in 
which case your first intimation of its whereabout is the sharp 
whirr of its wing, and you must bestir yourself hastily indeed, 
yet coolly withal, and you must have the eye of instinct, and 
the nerve of steel, to cut him down handsomely under such cir¬ 
cumstances. 

It may be added to this catalogue of difficulties, that in flying 
from you, as the Quail does in a great majority of cases, he 
presents to the aim of the sportsman a vital centre little larger 
than a cent piece, with two radii formed by the slender pinions, 
in which small target four or five shot must be lodged to bring 
him down with any certainty; so that it will not appear 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


231 


remarkable if, with a gun that scatters its charge, even a 
good shot miss this bird even at a short range; and that at 
thirty or forty paces the very best guns, aimed with perfect 
precision, fail frequently of killing clean. 

The Quail is a very brave bird, moreover. He will carry 
off a great quantity of shot, if not lodged in a vital part, and 
will frequently, even when mortally wounded, particularly if 
shot through the brain or heart, and going before the wind, fly 
till life leaves him in mid air, and even after that will be pro¬ 
pelled by the rapidity of his previous motion and the buoyancy 
of his still extended wings, for many yards farther in a descend¬ 
ing line. 

A singular instance of this occurred to myself while shooting 
in the Highlands of the Hudson, nearly opposite to West 
Point, with two friends, in November, 1839. We were beating 
a bare field on one of the lower hills of that chain, in which 
were several shallow ravines lying nearly parallel to each other, 
pointing transversely downward. 

I was in the lowest of three gulleys with a brace of dogs, and 
perhaps a hundred yards in advance of my companions, each 
of whom, with one dog, was making good another parallel 
gorge. 

The wind was blowing keenly and coldly on our backs, and 
before us lay a long range of open fields sloping steeply toward 
the river, with a piece of young woodland, bounded by a stone 
wall on the hither side, beyond them'. 

Finding no game myself, I was suddenly put on the alert by 
the quick shout, “ mark ! mark!” from behind, somewhat to my 
left; and in the next moment a large bevy of birds, which had 
been raised by my friends and circled round my back, passed 
me within twenty paces to the right. 

It struck me at the time, that I never had seen birds fly so 
fast; they had already traversed sufficient space to have gained 
the full momentum of their own velocity, and had in their favor 
all the impetus that the swift wind, directly before which they 
were flying, could give them. I was shooting with a gun that 


232 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


carries its shot very closely, and that loaded with Ely’s patent 
cartridge, which are propelled full one-third farther and more 
strongly than loose shot—and to conclude, I was perfectly cool, 
and making allowance for the distance and velocity of the birds, 
fired both barrels. To my infinite disgust neither bird fell, and 
I need not add, to the infinite mirth of my companions, who 
accused me of missing two perfectly fair shots in the open. 

I replied, thereby greatly increasing their merriment, that I 
had not missed either bird, and that I had hit both in front of 
the wing, that is to say in the most vital part of the body; at 
which they laughed ineffably; but in the end it turned out as 
usual that the last laugher has the best of it. 

For, to proceed, we marked the bulk of the bevy into the 
woodland I have mentioned, at least a quarter of a mile down 
wind, and followed them thither. 

But on arriving at the stone wall which bounded it on the 
nearer side, both my dogs stood almost simultaneously, and 
immediately retrieved the two birds I had shot at, perfectly 
dead, but both warm, and both bleeding from the bill. 

The shots I fired were the first shots fired that morning, con¬ 
sequently they must have been my birds, and they had flown 
after being mortally struck, above a quarter of a mile, and 
would probably have flown considerably farther, skimming 
close to the ground, had not the stone wall, against which, I 
have no doubt, they struck, brought them up at last. From 
curiosity I kept the two birds apart, and on picking them found 
in one five, in the other seven, No. 8 shot in the neck and 
breast in front of the wing. 

The comparative size of No. 8 shot to a Quail, is about that 
of grape shot to a man, and to judge of the tenacity of life and 
muscular motion, we must imagine a man running half a mile 
at the top of his pace with seven grape shot, as big as a mode¬ 
rate sized plum, through his neck and the cavity of the sternum 
—a thing palpably impossible ! 

We will now proceed to the consideration of the means of 
overcoming these difficulties, and the best method of carrying 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


233 


on the pleasant and exciting pursuit of this beautiful little bird. 

From the greater difficulty of finding and killing Quail, it 
follows of course that a greater combination of qualities in the 
dog with which we hunt them is required. 

For Snipe or Woodcock shooting, the latter especially, 
which is pursued in very close covert for the most part, we 
require only a dog with good hunting qualities, under excellent 
command, broke to hunt extremely close to his master, and 
never to go beyond the range of his sight. Indeed if he do not 
hang upon the stale scents, and potter where birds have been 
but are not, a dog for Woodcock shooting can hardly be too 
slow or too steady. 

Now all these qualities are essential likewise to the Quail 
dog, and without these qualities the sportsman can have no 
success when he has attained the first object of his morning’s 
work, the driving and scattering his birds from open grain or 
grass fields into covert wherein they will lie hard, and rise 
singly, »which constitute the only circumstances under which, 
north of the Delaware and Potomac, it is possible to bag many 
Quail. 

Yet this is far from all that we require in a Quail dog; for 
as we are compelled to seek for our birds in the open feeding 
grounds, while they are running in the early morning, and as 
our day’s sport mainly depends on finding a considerable num¬ 
ber of birds during that short time, which ends at the latest, by 
ten o’clock in the morning, and earlier in warm, sunny days, it 
follows that the more ground we can get over in a given time, 
the greater the chance of success. 

We require therefore that our brace of dogs while beating 
open ground should have dash and speed enough to run almost 
like foxhounds on a breast-high scent, heads up and stems 
down, quartering the field from fence to fence in opposite direc¬ 
tions and crossing each other midway—that they should be so 
staunch and steady as to allow the shooter to come up to them 
from five or six hundred yards’ distance, without breaking their 
point—and lastly that they should be under command so perfect 


234 


FRANK FORESTER S FIELD SPORTS. 


that on getting into covert they shall cross and re-cross their 
ground fifty times, never budging twenty yards from the feet of 
their master, and working as slowly as the slowest Cock-dog. 

It will be seen at once that such a combination of opposite 
qualities must needs be very rare ; and so rare is it, that for 
every hundred of good Woodcock-dogs which I have seen 
in this country, I have not seen ten equally good on Quail. 

I shall not touch here on the comparative and much disputed 
excellence of the Pointer or the Setter, except to observe that 
personally I greatly prefer the latter; while I admit that for 
persons who shoot but rarely, and who do not like the trouble 
of constant supervision of their dogs, I had almost said constant 
dog-breaking, the Pointer is the more suitable companion. 

I have, however, seen, indeed have owned Setters, which in 
all points of steadiness might have competed with the staunch¬ 
est Pointers, and which were as careful and under as good 
command on the first, as on the last, day of the season. 

I will now suppose that the sportsman has arrived at his 
shooting ground, and taken up his quarters in his snug country 
tavern for the night, previous to commencing operations in the 
early morning over a brace of good dogs, Pointers or Setters, 
at his own option. 

First then, let him see his dogs, which we will suppose have 
run some part of their journey afoot, well suppered on mush, 
or suppawn of Indian-meal, or oatmeal, seasoned with a little 
salt, but no meat, which injures the nose ; and well bedded on 
clean wheaten straw. Next let him sup lightly, limit his pota¬ 
tions to the second glass, and eschew a second pipe or cigar. 
Let him to-bed early, that he may sleep well and rise refreshed 
and with steady nerves. 

These are small matters doubtless—but it is the observance 
of small matters that makes great men in any line, and in oui 
case, good sportsmen. 

Lastly, let him assure himself before retiring to rest, that his 
sheets are dry and well aired, no inconsiderable matter to him 
who would avoid rheumatism. If he be the least in doubt, and 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


235 


be wise, he will discard the suspected linen, and turn in be¬ 
tween the blankets. 

On getting up in the morning, all ablutions duly performed, 
it will be necessary to provide for the needful operation of 
breaking fast; and this must neither be neglected, for no man 
can take exercise with impunity on an empty stomach; nor 
must it be done too luxuriously, for as certainly no man can 
walk well, or fast, or keep it up long, on an overloaded one. 

Here is my method. 

I have found it impossible to get out early enough to do exe¬ 
cution from any country tavern, if one waits until a hot break¬ 
fast is prepared My method, therefore, is to take with me a 
cold ham, or a cold hunters’ round, and to have the table laid 
over night, in addition to that, with bread, butter, and cold 
milk, on which, for my part, I can breakfast very satisfactorily. 

This done, if you know the country, go to the place where 
are the most and likeliest grain stubbles lying near to good 
woodland, or coppice covert, and beat them regularly, in such 
a manner that the woods shall be down-wind of your beat. Let 
your dogs, however, beat every field up-wind, by which means 
thev will scent their birds one-third farther than if you go down- 
wind. 

Look especially to the sides of the fields, particularly if they 
are bushy ; Quail do not affect the middle even of the stubbles 
on which they feed. 

If your dogs trail a running bevy, never run or hurry them. 
They are, if you do so, nearly sure to flush them wild. Be, on 
the contrary, very steadv yourself, and cry “ Steady ! steady ! 
Toho !” words to which dogs should be accustomed early. If 
they point firmly, and are so very staunch that you can depend 
on them, it is not a bad plan to make a wide circuit, and get 
a-head of the bevy, which even if wild and running, will often 
squat on finding itself enclosed between the dog and the gun, 
and thus afford good shooting. 

If you drive a bevy of Quail into good covert, be not in haste 
to follow it. It will stay there, be sure; and you will find them 


236 FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 

far more certainly after half an hour has elapsed. For m) self 
I have found it the best plan, where woods are small, and the 
covert thick, to go on beating the open fields, without following 
the bevies at all, in the first instance, marking them down care¬ 
fully when they rise, until the feeding and running hour has 
passed,—then to follow bevy after bevy, whither you have seen 
them alight; and knowing their whereabout, if not the exact 
spot where they lie, the dogs will soon find them. 

Otherwise, if one wastes the morning in killing off one bevy, 
by the time he has done with it, the birds will have crept away 
into their hiding-places, and he may hunt the wood-skirts, and 
brush-holes, all day along, without finding another, even where 
they abound, unless he blunder upon one by chance. 

During the heat of the day, if one have not found birds in 
the morning, although it is pretty much chance work, bog mea¬ 
dows, brown bushes on southerly and westerly hill-sides, old 
pastures with much bent and ragwort, and the skirts of cop¬ 
pices, are generally the best ground, though in some regions 
they will be found in large open woodlands. 

In the afternoon, soon after four o’clock, the bevies again 
begin to run and feed, and in this part of the day they will fie- 
quently be met running along the grassy margins of streams 
which flow through pasture-fields, whither they resort to drink, 
or at least to crop the wet herbage. 

So good is the chance of sport at this time, that I would urge 
it strongly on the sportsman who has failed of finding his bevies 
on the feeding ground in the morning—if he know that there is 
a fair show of birds in the district—not to persist in wearing out 
himself and his dogs, by fruitless toil in the heat of noon, but 
rather to await the cool afternoon, when he will very often make 
up for lost time, and make a heavy bag when circumstances 
have looked least auspiciously. 

I have now set my sportsman fairly in the field, and shown 
him how best he may find his birds,—more is beyond my 
means. 

A crack shot must in some sort be born ; but most persons 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


237 


with good eyesight, and steady nerves, may attain to respecta¬ 
bility, if nort excellence, in this gentlemanlike and manly art. 

To this end, practice and coolness are the great desiderata. 
Rules, I think, avail little, if anything. I have seen men shoot 
excellently, who closed one eye to take aim—excellently who 
shot with both open,—never, however, I must admit, decently, 
who shut both—not, by the way, a very uncommon occurrence 
with beginners. I have seen men again shoot excellently, car¬ 
rying their guns at full cock,—excellently, who never cocked 
either barrel till in the act of firing. 

There is, however, one thing to be observed,—no man can 
shoot well in covert, or at snap shots, who follows his bird with 
his gun, or dwells on his aim—the first sight is always the best; 
and it is deliberate promptitude in catching this first sight which 
alone constitutes—what my poor friend, J. Cypress, Junior, 
used to call the rarest work of nature—a truly cool, truly quick, 
orach shot. 

With regard to hunting dogs on Quail, there is a great deal 
to be said; and in nothing is the true and thoroughbred sports¬ 
man more distinctly marked from the cockney pot-hunter, than 
by his skill, temper, and success, in managing his four-footed 
companions. 

Quail shooting, as the most difficult of all shooting, and re¬ 
quiring the greatest natural qualifications, and most perfect 
training in the dog, demands also the greatest science in the 
person who hunts the dog. 

The great desiderata here are, first, to know precisely what 
a dog ought to do,—and, second, to make him do it. 

In this country, far more sportsmen fail in the first—in Eng¬ 
land more in the second particular. 

It were scarce too much to say, that four sportsmen, in their 
own opinion, here , out of five, know so little what are the re¬ 
quisite performances and capabilities of a dog, that within 
twelve months after buying a perfectly well-broke dog, they 
permit him to lose all he has ever known, merely from failing tc 
exercise his abilities, and punish his eccentricities. 


238 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


As in all other tuition, reward and punishment must both be 
brought into play; but it is a great thing to remember that, 
while a dog should never be allowed to disobey an order, or to 
commit a fault unpunished, it is well neither to harass him by 
unnecessary commands, nor to tempt into faults by over exac¬ 
tion 

Moreover, a dog cannot be managed with too little shouting. 
He should be accustomed always to obey the whistle ; and he 
will very soon learn to understand the meaning invariably 
attached to any combinations of that sound, turning his head to 
observe the gesture of your hand, by which he may be directed 
to beat this way or that, to back his fellow’s point, or to down- 
charge—the signal for the two latter duties being the same,— 
the hand held aloft, with an erect arm, open, with the palm 
facing the dog, the fingers closed, but the thumb extended. 
This motion ought to arrest a dog at the top of his speed, the 
instant his attention is called to it, as suddenly as if he were 
shot dead; and the advantages gained from the strictest enforce¬ 
ment of the rule, are too palpable to demand further comment. 

If, therefore, a Setter, or Pointer, is broke to lie down im¬ 
mediately to charge, on the firing of a shot, and to turn his head 
at every whistled call of his master, thereafter obeying one or 
two simple gestures, the necessity for roaring like a bull of 
Bashan, as is the practice of most dog-breakers, and all cockney 
sportsmen, will be entirely obviated. The advantages of which 
will be, that you will not flush four-fifths of all the game within 
hearing, nor drive your fellow sportsmen crazy, if they happen 
to be blessed with nerves; and not render yourself as hoarse as 
a waterman on a hackney-coach stand, by bellowing out orders, 
which your dog, nine times out of ten, cannot hear, being to 
windward of you. 

A shrill ivory whistle should always be hung from the button¬ 
hole of the jacket, and a heavy dog-whip invariably earned in 
the pocket; but, although neither of these, in their way highly 
useful implements, should be suffered to enjoy a sinecure, it is 
almost unnecessary to observe that of the last, even more than 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


230 


of the first, the real utility will be greatly diminished by too 
frequeiit application 

I shall have farther occasion to speak of the management of 
dogs, and indeed of the habits and mode of shooting Quail like¬ 
wise, under the head of “ General Autumn Shooting,” which 
will follow the few remarks I shall proceed to make on Pin¬ 
nated and Ruffed Grouse shooting, as practised apart from the 
pursuit of other game. 

VOL. i. 18 


$40 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


RUFFED GROUSE SHOOTING, 

V U L G O ,-PARTRIDGE SHOOTING. 

I 


T was my misfortune once— 
once only, gentle reader—in my 
life, to be seduced into underta¬ 
king an excursion very late in 
the season, a few days only be¬ 
fore Chiistmas, into the interior 
of Connecticut, for the especial 
purpose of shooting the Ruffed 
Grouse, or as it is there termed, Partridge. 

I went on the representation of a friend, who while Cock¬ 
shooting on that ground, early in the autumn, before the leaves 
were down, had moved an immense number of these birds, 
which were then in broods with the old hen. He assured me, 
as he fully expected would prove the case, that we should cer¬ 
tainly get twenty or thirty fair shots each, daily; and in 
consequence I looked for great sport. 

The result was, that, although we had two brace of as good 
betters as any in the country, and fagged steadily and resolute¬ 
ly during four successive days, we bagged seven birds between 
us; two only over points; and certainly did not fire altogether, 
at snap shots and long range, above ten or eleven shots. On 
other occasions, once or twice, I have been persuaded, contrary 
to my opinion, to go out of my way to beat for Ruffed Grouse, 
or to devote a day to their especial pursuit, but I never in any 
one case have been successful. 



UPLAND SHOOTING. 


241 


The Ruffed Grouse, after the broods have separated and left 
the hens, are the wildest and most wary birds I have ever pur¬ 
sued, when the woody nature of the haunts which they affect 
is taken into consideration. They have also the most rambling 
habit of any American game-bird, except the Turkey; it not 
being an uncommon thing for the single birds, or the small 
companies into which they sometimes form themselves, to 
wander on the foot, without taking wing at all, ten or twelve 
miles, at a stretch, over rough hills and through deep wood¬ 
lands. Add to this, that their favorite resorts are the steep 
ledgy sides of rocky hills, covered with thick wood, and that 
generally of evergreens, as pine, hemlock, or red cedar, with 
an undergrowth of the great mountain rhododendron, com¬ 
monly known as laurel. It is the characteristic of this sort 
of woodland, that, while the foliage is very thick and intricate 
above, on a level with the breast and eyes of the sportsman, it 
is for the most part perfectly open and clear below; so that 
while the hunter has the greatest difficulty in seeing his birds, 
the birds have none whatever in seeing him or his dogs. They 
consequently start on the full run—and he who has tried to 
secure one when wing-tipped or slightly wounded, without the 
aid of dog, knows what pace that is—the moment the sports¬ 
man enters the wood; and after keeping the dogs trailing and 
roading on their scent for a mile or two, either flap up unper¬ 
ceived into a tree, or take wing at a hundred yards’ distance ; 
and in either case get away unshot at. On this account, they 
are the most trying bird to the temper of a dog that possibly 
can be imagined, as it is comparatively speaking of very rare 
occurrence that they will lie to be pointed, and flushed over 
the point. 

The exception to this rule is where they are found, which is 
rarely the case, in low, swampy thickets of heavy covert, in 
level country. In such places, if you have the luck to find 
them, you are almost certain of great sport; for, where the 
ground is thick and tangled at the bottom, they will squat, 


242 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


finding themselves unable to run, and will lie, on such occa¬ 
sions, till they are literally kicked up. 

I have never, in all my experience of shooting in this coun¬ 
try, seen this occur but twice; and in fact the bird is so seldom 
found in lowland country, that I consider it utterly useless to 
go out in pursuit of Ruffed Grouse, except as an adjunct with 
other birds of bolder and freer wing. 

One of the instances I have alluded to above, is perhaps not 
unworthy of notice, as I believe it to be almost unique ; for I 
have met no sportsman who has seen any thing of the sort 
occur with the Ruffed Grouse, though with the Prairie Hen it 
often happens. It occurred during early autumn shooting, on 
the second or third of November, immediately after the law of 
New-Jersey permits this bird and the Quail to be shot; and 
Woodcock had not as yet forsaken the country. I was beating 
for game in general, but rather with a view to Cock than any 
other bird, in a long, narrow swale, between a steep ridge and 
an open meadow, along the edge of which my companion was 
walking, while I myself made good the whole width of the 
alder coppice with my dogs. Suddenly both the Setters came 
to a dead point at a small patch of thick briars and brambles 
close to the meadow fence, and, on my walking up to them, 
finding that nothing moved, I took it for granted that it was a 
Hare, and called out to my friend to look out, as I would beat 
it out to him. On kicking the briars, however, to my great 
surprise a very fine Ruffed Grouse, a cock bird, rose within 
ten feet of me, and flew directly across me toward the hill. 
Unfortunately, my friend fired at the bird across me, contrary 
to all rules of sportsmanship, so that two charges were wasted 
on this bird ; for immediately, at the report, three more birds 
rose out of the same brake, two of which flew across him over 
the open meadow, both of which he must have killed had he 
reserved his fire, as he should have done, while the third follow¬ 
ed the cock across the swale to the ridge, till I stopped him. 

Taking it for granted that all the birds must have gone now, 
four barrels having been fired directly over the thicket in whicl 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


243 


they lay, 1 made some observation to my companion about his 
rashness in firing; when three more birds whirred out of the 
same bush in quick succession, and of course got away unshot 
at, all our barrels being empty. After I had loaded, yet an 
eighth bird got up a few yards ahead, having crept out, I 
imagine, while the dogs were at down charge, and I was fortu¬ 
nate enough to kill it also—thus bringing four Ruffed Grouse 
to bag, which were sprung one by one, or very nearly so, out 
of a thicket less than thirty feet in circumference. We ought 
certainly to have got one more bird, at least; and had we been 
as silent as we should, might possibly have bagged them all, for 
they all rose within four or five yards of our gun-muzzles, and 
the place was quite open and fair shooting ground. 

I never saw a more evident proof of the great propriety, and 
great gain, of attending strictly to the most minute rules of 
sportsmanship and woodcraft; like laws of military tactics, 
they can never be violated with impunity; and though we ob¬ 
serve them ninety-nine times, the violation on the hundredth 
will almost certainly prove disastrous. 

I know an instance of a good sportsman in the city of New- 
York, whose name I do not record, giving him the credit of a 
remarkable feat; because, being in business, it might injure 
him among those gentry of the street , who think no hunting but 
dollar-hunting respectable ! who actually brought to bag eight 
Pinnated Grouse, in succession, without himself moving from 
his ground, or his dog breaking its point. This occurred, some 
years since, on Martha’s Vineyard; but, as I have observed 
before, I know no authentic instance of the Ruffed Grouse ever 
lying in the same manner, after the separation of the broods. 
Before that period, they of course lie to the dog as the Quail, 
the Prairie Hen, or the Grouse of the British Isles. Hence, I 
consider the day fixed by our legislature for the end of close 
time, as too late in regard to the Ruffed Grouse. 

The constantly repeated tale, that the Ruffed Grouse when it 
alights in trees in companies, which it occasionally will do, in 
the spring, when eating the young buds, of which it is extremely 


244 


PRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


fond, will allow the whole flock to be shot down, one by one, 
without stirring, provided the shooter takes the precaution of 
shooting that which sits the lowest on the tree, first, is as fabu¬ 
lous, as it is, on the face, ridiculous. 

Mr. Audubon notes this fact, with his wonted accuracy; 
adding that during heavy snow storms he has sometimes killed 
three or four. This is credible enough; starvation will make 
any bird or beast tame, and snow appears, while falling, to 
have a peculiar effect on birds of this order—unlike rain, which 
makes them wild—rendering them very unwilling to rise.— 
Savages in this region of country—I can designate them by no 
other name—often shoot whole bevies of Quail while huddled 
together on the ground in their little circles, during snow 
storms, in this manner, at a single shot. So far, however, are 
such foul practices from deserving to be recorded as modes of 
killing game, that I only speak of them here, in order to uphold 
them, and all who practice them, to the contempt and abhor¬ 
rence of every one who would be termed a sportsman. 

I have been told that these birds exist in such abundance on 
the Kaatskills, and in all that region of country, that it is well 
worth the while to go out in pursuit of them, without reference 
to, or rather with no chance of finding any other species of 
game. This I, at least, shall never attempt; nor shall I ever 
advise any person to do so. I know that they abounded in 
that district of Connecticut of which I have spoken above, as 
was proved by the fact that many scores were offered to me for 
purchase, which had been snared, yet it was impossible to get 
shots at them over dogs. 

Again, throughout the semi-cultivated portions of all the 
Eastern States, and especially in Maine, the woods are literally 
full of them ; yet such are their peculiarities of habit, that it is 
useless to attempt to have sport with them. A man, stealing 
along the old grassy wood roads, keeping absolute silence and 
a bright look out, may manage to pick up a brace or two in the 
course of a day, and this is probably more than the best sports¬ 
man living can effect with the best dogs, in that region of coun¬ 
try J # but that is not sport for sportsmen ! 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


245 


The Ruffed Grouse is a singularly handsome bird, whether 
on the ground or on the wing; looking, from the looseness and 
downy habit of his feathers, considerably larger than he really 
is. He rises with a very loud whirring of his wings—which 
Mr. Audubon asserts so positively, that I must suppose so accu¬ 
rate an observer to be surely correct, to be uttered merely at 
moments of alarm and sudden trepidation, the bird when not 
forced to take wing, rising noiselessly—and gets under way 
with extreme rapidity. In general, this bird does not rise much 
higher than a man’s head, and then flies very straight, and very 
swiftly, at an even elevation for several hundred yards; after 
which it will set both its wings, and sail dead before the wind 
with immense velocity. To kill the Ruffed Grouse, when thus 
skating down-wind, as it crosses you, having been flushed at a 
distance, it is necessary to allow a considerable space for the 
swiftness of its motion; and I should fire not less than two feet 
in front of one, at thirty-five or forty yards’ distance. 

Going directly away from the gun, the Ruffed Grouse, like 
the Quail, is an awkward bird to kill, from the fact, that they 
both fly with the body so nearly level, that the rump and hard 
bones of the back receive the shot; and in this part of the body 
they will have to be struck very heavily, before they will fall. 
It is a good plan in this position to shoot a little low, as you are 
far more apt to over than to under-shoot them. 

A cross shot, if not too far off, is easily killed; as the bird 
affords a fair mark, and will not carry off nearly so much shot 
as the Quail, if struck well forward. 

Beginners are apt to shoot behind all their cross shots, and 
perhaps especially so at this bird, his long tail and loose feathers 
tending to deceive them. 

It i3 a matter of exceeding surprise to me, that this bird has 
not been naturalized in Great Britain. Its extreme hardihood 
would render its success certain ; and in every part of the coun¬ 
try, but in the woodland and forest counties especially, Dorset 
shire, Devonshire, parts of Essex, the New Forest, throughout 
Wales, and in many districts of the North Country, and Scot- 


246 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


land, it would very soon become abundant. Indeed, the hedge¬ 
rows would be sufficient to hold it, everywhere ; and from what 
I have seen, and stated above, of its habits in the low grounds 
here , I do not doubt that it would there afford sport equal to any 
English bird, except the Red Grouse. Its flesh is delicious, if 
dressed properly. It will bear to be kept hanging, in the 
autumn, two or three weeks with manifest advantage; it should 
be roasted quickly , before an extremely hot fire ; and it should 
be exposed at once to the full heat, at a short distance, so as to 
sear the pores of the skin, and prevent the exudation of the 
juices; after a few minutes it may be withdrawn from the focus 
of heat, until it shall be cooked through. It should be eaten, 
as should the Grouse and Quail, with bread sauce and fried 
crumbs ,—any sort of jelly, or sweet condiment, with any galli¬ 
naceous fowl, or any meat that is not immoderately fat and lus¬ 
cious, is an abomination. As a variety, either this bird, or the 
Quail, is delicious larded, boiled, and smothered in celery 
sauce; and the Quail, en passant be it said, is undeniable in a 
pie, with a fat rump steak at the bottom of the dish, a dozen 
hard-boiled eggs, and the slightest possible soupc?on of garlic 
and one cayenne pepper-pod. 

If intended to be eaten cold, both birds are better boiled than 
roasted; as they will be found on trial much juicier, and less 
dry, than in the usual mode. 

The plan resorted to by French cooks, who never know how 
to cook any sort of game, except in salmis, or the like, of blan¬ 
keting these birds in pork fat, cut thin, before roasting them, is, 
of course, entirely wrong. It prevents the grand desideratum, 
namely, the searing of the skin, so as to make it contain the na¬ 
tural juices; and, instead of its own game gravy, saturates it 
with the essential oil of pig. 

The epicure will prefer the back-bone and thighs of this deli¬ 
cious bird; and, by saving them for himself, he will also gain 
the credit of great disinterestedness from the ladies, and the 
snobs ,—Heaven forbid that I should intend a comparison, in 
thus uniting them! but it is a fact that they both invariably 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


247 


prefer the bosom, as I believe it is the fashion of these modest 
days to term the white meat. 

For the benefit of what the French are pleased to call amphi- 
tryons, the excellent men who are rich enough to give good 
dinners, and of the happy men who are allowed to eat them, 
I will add, that red wine is the thing with game of all kinds. 
The right thing of all is Chambertin, or clos de Vougeot / but, 
in default of these, a sound Lajitte or Latour claret is excel¬ 
lently well in place. Champagne is not the thing in the least; 
and, for those who aspire to feed themselves or their friends 
creditably, without aiming at the expense of the costly French 
red wines, allow me to suggest, that a glass of good gold sherry 
is perfectly allowable with game. Except at a ball supper, no 
one, except counter-jumpers, ever think of champagne, beyond 
one tumbler with the roti. 

The next thing to killing your game handsomely, after find¬ 
ing it gnostically, is undoubtedly knowing how to set it on the 
table, for the benefit of your friends, in perfection, and with the 
proper accessories; and a hint or two on this subject may be 
pardoned, even in a work on field sports,—especially where 
such abominations are practiced, as eating Snipe and Woodcock 
high, drawing the trail, and broiling them; and eating currant, 
or plum jelly, with roast Grouse; or cranberries with venison. 

Nothing in my eyes is more contemptible, than the man who 
cannot rough it upon occasion,—who cannot dine heartily, and 
with a relish, on a bit of cold salt pork, and a crust of bread, 
when he can get nothing better; but nothing is more stupidly, 
or hopelessly savage, than the man who does not care what he 
eats. 

In the code of game-cookery, the gridiron is an article of the 
kitchen 'prohibited , unless in the case of a venison steak, a Bear 
chop, or a Wild Duck. To broil a Quail, or a Grouse, much 
more a Snipe, or a Woodcock, ought to be made—like frying a 
beefsteak—death without benefit of clergy. 


248 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


GROUSE SHOOTING. 


HIS noble sport I have never myself 
had an opportunity of enjoying, though 
I still live in the hope of finding myself 
on some fine autumnal morning, in the 
Western Prairies, with two or three 
brace of good dogs, a staunch compan¬ 
ion, and all appurtenances suitable for 
a month’s sport. 

They are in all respects the noblest 
bird, which is to be shot over Pointers in the United States ; and 
the vast numbers in which they are still found in their own Prai¬ 
rie-land, the magnificent range of country which is spread out be¬ 
fore the eye of the sportsman, the openness of the shooting, and 
the opportunity of observing all the motions of the dogs, must 
render this sport, like the Red Grouse shooting in Great Britain, 
the Queen of American field sports. 

In the state of New Jersey a few packs of these fine birds still 
breed annually among the sandy pine barrens along the southern 
shore ; the best of these shooting grounds are now exclusively oc¬ 
cupied by three or four gentlemen resident in the vicinity of Bur¬ 
lington, Bordentown, and Trenton, who either rent or have pur¬ 
chased them for the purpose of sporting thereon, and on the pre¬ 
tence of wishing to preserve them. I say the pretence, for I 
grieve to say that no feeling of chivalrous sportsmanship deter 
these gentlemen, some of whom are excellent shots, from butch¬ 
ering these noble birds even in the month of July, when they 
are utterly unfit for killing; and for this outrage on sportsman¬ 
ship and humanity, there is the less palliation—excuse or justifi¬ 
cation, there never can be any—in that occupying the grounds ex¬ 
clusively, they are safe from the apprehension of being anticipa¬ 
ted by poachers or pot-hunters. Why, then, they should them- 







RUFFED GROUSE. 
























































































UPLAND SHOOTING. 


240 


selves poach and pot-hunt, is absolutely inexplicable andjncon- 
ceivable. I trust that this notice, from which I have purposely 
withheld the names of the offenders, in order to avoid personali¬ 
ty, will deter them from the like criminality in future against the 
letter and spirit of the laws, which should rule all true sportsmen. 

In Martha’s Vineyard they are so strictly preserved, that 
I have never taken the trouble of travelling thither on the chance 
of obtaining permission to shoot at them, although I am well 
aware that there are sportsmen from New York who resort 
thither yearly in pursuit of them. 

On the barrens of Kentucky, where they formerly abounded, 
as in the Eastern States, they have become extinct; and, in truth, 
unless the sportsman is prepared to travel so far as Chicago, St. 
Joseph’s, or St. Louis, he has not much chance of obtaining any¬ 
thing to reward his pains, in the way of Grouse shooting; and 
it is, perhaps, worth observing, that in the present advanced 
state of internal communication with the Western Country, 
there is no real difficulty, and no great expense, in the way of 
the adventurer who would try his fortune on the Heath-Hen in 
its own wild haunts. The facilities of steamboat travel are par¬ 
ticularly favorable to the transportation of dogs ; and it would, 
doubtless, well repay a party to set off at any time after the 
first of September, with a strong kennel, for the prairies. 

This Grouse breeds early, the nest being generally finished 
on the first of May; the eggs are rarely more than twelve in 
number, the hen sits eighteen or nineteen days, and the young 
run so soon as they are hatched. This species never raises a 
second brood, unless the first is destroyed. About the first of 
August the young are about equal in size to the Quail, and are, 
I regret to say, at that age, and a little older, butchered, and 
pronounced excellent eating by men who take the name of 
sportsmen. 

A writer in the “ Turf Register,” under the title of “Tom 
Trigor,” a fellow of infinite humor, and of so very correct 
opinions on a great variety of topics, that I marvel at his prac¬ 
tice in regard to Grouse, discourses thus on the habits and 
modes of shooting this bird, as he understands them:— 


250 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


“ Well then,” says he, “ these noble birds early in Septem¬ 
ber, or even so soon as late in August, who have whooped, and 
strutted, and trumpeted the live-long spring and summer, the 
undisturbed possessors of the prairies, are now leading about 
their broods, some three-quarter parts grown, and they are at no 
time in better condition for broiling, the most delicate spring 
chickens yielding to them in flavor ; and, at the same time, their 
behavior in the field is far more satisfactory, and accommodat¬ 
ing, than at any other period of their lives. They now, wdien 
once they have scattered, stick to their concealment in the long 
grass, till you kick them up with your foot, and the amount you 
can then bag, need be limited only by your forbearance oryoui 
industry.” 

In my humble opinion, “ Tom Trigor’s” gastronomy and his 
sportsmanship are about on a par, both execrable. The man 
who would broil a Grouse at all, when he could possibly cook 
it otherwise, or who could compare it by way of praise with a 
spring chicken , must have about as much idea of the qualities of 
game on the table, as he who thinks they are in perfection foi 
shooting, when they are too weak to rise oh the wing. I should 
think their conduct would be more satisfactory yet, to such a 
gunner, before they could fly at all. 

Seriously speaking, from all the really good sportsmen with 
whom I have spoken of Grouse shooting, I learn that the defect 
in the sport consists in the extraordinary tameness of the bird, 
and the infinite facility of knocking it down at the commence¬ 
ment of the season,—the killing, in fact, partaking almost the 
character of butchery. 

To quote once more from the writer above cited:—“ Let the 
gnostics preach about its being not ‘ sportsmanlike, and unhand¬ 
some, to knock down more birds than you can consume.’ I’ll 
make out, when I can, my twenty brace notwithstanding; and 
I have never seen Grouse yet at such a discount, at this season 
of the year, but what all that could be killed could be consumed ; 
and, if I haply should a little overstock the market, there is no 
fear of thinning off the tribe, for their name is legion, and the 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


251 


farmers will not grieve when they reflect that there will be, at 
any rate, by so much the fewer depredators on their corn-fields 
next autumn and winter, when it may truly be said, they are 
fruges consumere nati. Moreover, we must make the most of 
them now, for in six weeks they will change their character and 
habits so entirely, that by no ingenuity can we possibly get near 
enough for a shot; and the devils, though they now tumble 
over on the reception of two or three No. 8 shot, will then carry 
off as much lead as a Galena steamboat. It is astonishing how 
difficult the full-grown birds are to kill,—I have known them, 
when riddled with No. 4 shot, to fly entirely out of sight and 
leave you bending forward your neck, in hopes that as you have 
knocked off feathers enough, as it would seem, to fill a bolster, 
that straight and rapid flight must soon falter; but no, on goes 
the bird in a ‘ bee line/ till his figure melts into thin air,” &c. 

It is, indeed, sorry work, when a man who writes so very 
well, and who seems to possess very many of the genuine ideas 
and feelings of a sportsman, should condescend to promulgate 
such mischievous nonsense as the above. I note this the more 
willingly, because to such selfish sophistry, on the part of sports 
men, more than half the difficulty of preserving game is directly 
ftscribable. 

For who, if the sportsman shoots out of season, because it is 
easier to kill half-grown birds than full-grown ones, or because 
there are so many of them, that two or three score, or hundreds^ 
more or less, will not be missed, will abstain from doing like¬ 
wise ? Or how shall we, conscious of such a beam in our own 
eye, venture to extract the mote from our brother’s 1 

The arguments advanced—if arguments they can be called- 
in the above precious paper, are equally applicable to every 
other species of game that flies. 

The Quail is a very hard bird to stop when full-grown, and 
well on the wing, especially in wild weather, and thick covert— 
an infinitely harder bird, in proportion to its size, which makes 
it all the more difficult to hit, and precludes the possibility of 
using large shot, than the Grouse—but I am happy to say, that 


252 


FRANK FORESTERS FIELD SPORTS. 


I never in my life heard a sportsman advocate shooting Quail 
in July, because it is easier to kill them then , than in November. 

Again, that it is not impossible to kill Grouse—Prairie Hen— 
in the autumn and winter, is rendered sufficiently evident by the 
quantity of these birds, killed with shot, which are exposed an¬ 
nually for sale in the New York and Philadelphia markets, over 
and above all those which are consumed in their native regions. 

Lastly, the reasoning on the number of the birds, is precisely 
that which has led to their annihilation in the Eastern and Mid 
land States, and even in Kentucky, and which is equally applicable 
to every species of game in every district where it is abundant. 

I have heard the very same soil; of talk held by countrymen, 
in defence of the vile practice of shooting Woodcock in spring, 
where there were then thousands of those birds. The conse¬ 
quence of that talk is, that there are now none in those regions. 

The truth is, that until the middle of September, the young birds 
are not very strong on the wing,—after that period they become 
gradually wilder and stronger, and take longer flights, some¬ 
times even to the distance of two or three miles in open country. 

Their flight is less rapid than that of the Ruffed Grouse, 
though of the same character. It does not make so loud a 
whirring as it first rises, but once on the wing, uses the same 
straight even course, maintained for some distance by frequent 
beats of the wings, after which it will float for several hundred 
yards at a time on balanced pinions, with the velocity gathered 
from its previous course. It is said very rarely to pass over the 
person who flushes it, even by the most sudden surprise. 

It feeds on stubbles and in maize-fields, and is to be hunted 
for in the vicinity of such grounds, where it will be found in the 
greatest abundance. On open prairie-grounds, the highest and 
speediest rangers are, of course, the best dogs over which to 
shoot the Grouse, as is the case with the Scottish red game, 
provided always that the animal has good nose enough to stand 
them at a long distance, and is staunch enough to allow the 
sportsman to come up from a distance, without moving on, or 
flushing his birds. 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


253 


I should presume that, for Grouse shooting in general, the 
Pointer would be preferable to the Setter, as this bird is noto¬ 
rious for its dislike to watery or marshy ground,—and it is the 
Pointer’s preeminent merit that he can endure more hours of 
thirst, than any other of the dog kind. The Setter, on the con¬ 
trary, very speedily loses his power of scenting, and soon after¬ 
wards his whole energy and strength, in hot weather, where 
water is not to be obtained. For this reason, to the Eastward, 
in New Jersey, and Pennsylvania, in all of which, brush plains, 
pines, and oak barrens, the soil is equally dry and sterile, the 
Pointer is as much preferred, as he is in the similarly dry Par¬ 
tridge shooting of England. The British moors, on which the 
Bed and Black Grouse are found, abound with springs, well¬ 
heads, brooks, and morasses, and on these the greater speed, 
daring, and dash of the Setter, as well as the advantage he de-' 
rives from his well-protected hairy feet, gives him the call 
decidedly over his smooth-haired rival. 

Mr. Audubon observes on this point, “ In the western coun¬ 
try they rarely stand before the Pointer; and I think the Setter 
a more profitable dog therebut I must confess myself entirely 
at a loss to comprehend the meaning oi this passage. 

In Europe, it is very true that the Setter naturally crouches 
close to the ground, falling flat on his belly when he comes on 
the scent of his game even at full speed, and flattening himself 
the nearer to the earth, the nearer he is to his game, while the 
Pointer invariably stands erect to point his game. 

. If this distinction held good in this country, the meaning of 
the above passage would be clear, but such is not the case. 
There is no difference whatsoever, of which I am aware, in the 
style of Pointers and Setters finding and pointing their game 
on this side the Atlantic. I have always shot over Setters, pre¬ 
ferring them, by all odds, for general work, and have owned at 
least a dozen good ones myself since I have been in the countiy, 
besides shooting over scores belonging to other persons, and 
I never in a single instance have seen a Setter set a bird in 
America. This is not a distinction of training but of natural 


254 


PRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


habit in the races ; and it is worthy of remark that the best dog 
I ever owned here was one which I imported from England 
when a small pup, and had broke in New Jersey. I never 
saw either his dam or his sire, over both which I shot in Eng¬ 
land, point a bird, and I never saw him set one. The first bird 
he ever scented was a Woodcock, on the fourth of July, and 
that he stood , with head and stem high in the air, as showily as 
I ever saw a Pointer stand. 

Nothing has ever puzzled me more completely as regards 
field sports than this fact, and I cannot figure to myself any 
reason that is at all satisfactory for the difference of habit, in 
the two countries. I have sometimes fancied that it might arise 
from soil or climate rendering the scent colder here than in 
England—for it is certain that the hotter the scent, the closer 
the dog sets —but I cannot see that this holds good by analogy, 
as I think dogs find and point their game fully as far off here 
as in Europe. 

This observation of Mr. Audubon’s has brought the matter, 
at this moment strongly to my mind, and has almost raised a 
doubt within me, whether to the Westward the Setter may not 
possibly resume his natural inclination to set rather than stand 
his game. 

In wooded regions it is to be remarked, that these birds are 
rarely if ever to be found among open groves and tall timber, 
such as are peculiarly loved by the Ruffed Grouse; they fre¬ 
quent tracts of low bushes and stunted underwood; and when 
on the wing will fly for miles rather than alight until they can 
find a clear place, such as an old road-way, or a new cutting, in 
which to settle. They generally run forward swiftly as soon as 
they strike the ground, and not unfrequently press themselves 
into thick covert, where they squat, and are compelled to lie 
hard by the difficulty which they experience in taking wing, 
from the opposition of the dense foliage. 

They are a shy bird in covert; and are of course much 
wilder to the Eastward, where they are incessantly persecuted, 
than in the Western Country. 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


255 


The Grouse invariably makes a clucking noise when it takes 
wing before a dog, and if it rises within distance, is a very easy 
shot. No. 8 early in the season, and later No. 5, are the best 
sizes of shot. After that, I should prefer red Ely’s cartridges, 
of No. 5 shot, which I will be bound to say will fetch them 
from a good twelve or fourteen guage gun of proper weight, 
held by a quick hand, and levelled by a true eye, at any period 
of the season. 

Mr. Audubon observes, contrary to the remarks cited above 
from Wilson and Dr. Mitchill, that the Grouse drinks when in 
a state of nature, like the common fowl, and farther, that it is 
exceedingly susceptible of domestication, even breeding freely 
in captivity. 

The remarks with regard to beating with dogs for the Quail 
and Ruffed Grouse, and for shooting both these birds on the 
wing, except so far as they are here modified, are all applica¬ 
ble to the Prairie or Heath-Hen. 

The flesh of this bird is not white, like that of the Ruffed 
Grouse, but red, like that of the Scottish Moor Fowl, which in 
many respects it resembles. It has more of the bitter taste 
than the Ruffed Grouse, and is, in my opinion, a decidedly 
superior bird. It will bear to be hung for some days, or even 
weeks in cold weather, and is to be cooked and eaten accord¬ 
ing to the direction given under the last head. 

In conclusion, it is well to state here, that there is certainly 
no distinction whatsoever between the Heath-Hen of Long 
Island and Martha’s Vineyard, the Grouse of the pines and 
scrub oaks of New Jersey and Pennsylvania, and the Prairie- 
Hen of the West. 

They are all one and the same bird—the Pinnated Grouse, 
Tetrao Cupido , of the ornithologist, and emphatically the 
Grouse of the sportsman. 

Of the Canada, or Spotted Grouse, it is in vain to speak, for 
he is not as yet to be shot, and I apprehend never will be, in 
sporting style. The ground in which to find him is the deep 
larch and cedar woods, especially the former, of Maine, Nova 
VOL. i. 19 


256 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


Scotia and New Brunswick, and if anywhere he exists in suffici¬ 
ent numbers to render the pursuit of him exciting as a sport, I 
have no doubt that the dogs over which to shoot him would be 
well broke Cocking Spaniels. 

I believe that the flesh of this species is the most highly flavor¬ 
ed of all the varieties of Grouse which we possess, though I but 
once had an opportunity of tasting it. It is said to be very bitter, 
which I presume to be that spicy, aromatic game flavor which 
gives the zest to the Grouse above all other birds, in the eyes of 
the true epicure. 

Thus far, with some few exceptions, I had written in my first 
edition of this work—these exceptions are the correction of two 
or three positive and palpable errors in relation to the growth, 
size, and seasons of this admirable bird. I am still myself of 
opinion, that in the main the spirit and letter of what is above set 
down will be found correct; but having had the good fortune to 
receive a very interesting original communication from a gentle¬ 
man of distinction and zealous sportsmanship in the South-West, I 
hasten, with sincere acknowledgments of his kindness, to insert 
his letter entire, certain that it will be read by all sportsmen 
with pleasure and profit, and that its statements and opinions may 
be received with perfect reliance on their correctness and fidelity. 

I have only to add that the handsome present of game, to 
which reference is made below, arrived in perfect condition, and 
were dealt with in perfect accordance with the desire of the 
obliging donor. I cannot, however, coincide with his views, as 1 
still think—though I admit that a broiled Grouse is good enough 
—that it is much inferior to one roasted before £ very brisk coal 
or wood fire—I do not mean baked in an oven, which is very 
often called roasting—and served, slightly underdone, with bread 
sauce. All jelly or sweet sauce with Grouse are an abomination. 

I have not yet had the good fortune of being able to comply 
with my friend’s kind invitation to participate individually in the 
noble sport of the prairies, though I earnestly hope to do so ere 
many autumns have elapsed ; nor had I the pleasure to see his 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


257 


friend, Mr. M., although I should have rejoiced to see and con¬ 
fer with him on the subject of the sports of the South-West, of 
which I have seen too little, while 1 desire so greatly personally 
to participate in them. I may also add that I have learned from 
good sportsmen of the West, that the objection against the use 
of pointers, lies in the inability of their thin-skinned legs and bare- 
soled feet to endure the wear and tear of the prairie grass. 

St. Louis , Mo., January 29th, 1849. 

Sir :—Not only are an author’s works the property of the pub¬ 
lic, but his readers become in some degree his acquaintances. 
He addresses his readers familiarly, sometimes almost affection¬ 
ately, especially when, as in your case, the subject is such as to 
establish a kind of free-masanry between him and all true lovers 
of the dog and gun. 

Having read both your original works and your translations, 
L feel as if I had some right to address you without the formality 
of an introduction. I wish to thank you for the additions you 
have made to our knowledge in sporting matters, and to say how 
heartily I, in common with all who wish to perpetuate the manly 
and healthful sports of the field, concur with you in opinion of 
the desirableness of some measure of legislation which may arrest 
the rapid destruction of the noble birds which yet adorn our 
prairies and forests, and which will render it penal—it ought to 
be infamous—to kill game either in the breeding season or before 
the young birds have acquired full strength of wing. 

I have been particularly struck with the article on Grouse shoot¬ 
ing, in vol. 1, and seq., p. 248, of your “ Field Sports.” With the 
principles which actuate you I entirely concur. But, as I con¬ 
ceive, you are slightly inaccurate in several particulars of the 
natural history of the Pinnated Grouse : and this has led you into 
error—as I think—in fixing the time—middle of October—when 
Grouse shooting ought to begin. 

Secondly, I think you are gastronomically wrong when you 
speak of the only mode in which the Grouse, when legitimately 
killed, should be cooked for the rational epicure. In my opinion 


258 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


you have not indicated the lest mode of preparing him for the 
table; of which more will be said presently. I will state the 
reasons for my dissent from your views ; and you must bear with 
me if I am tedious. 

You say, vol. 1, p. 249, u About the first of August the young 
are about equal in size to the Quail,” &c. 

I speak for the West only in what follows. There may be a 
difference in the habits of the birds here and in the Atlantic 
States; I am inclined to think there is. I am of opinion that 
the months of April and May are warmer, and September and 
October are colder in Missouri and Illinois than in Maryland. 
My professional engagements—I am a lawyer—prevent my giving 
to the habits of the Grouse the study to which my tastes incline 
me. I cannot say, with accuracy, at what time their nests are 
finished, or their broods hatched. But the young birds are much 
larger than Quail on the first of July; and in this condition, 
scarcely able to flutter out of the grass, they are, to the disgrace 
of all participants in or encouragers of the atrocity, killed in 
great numbers, sold dearly, and eaten greedily. At this time the 
flesh is white, tender, and tasteless. 

I do not desire you to hold your hand from smiting “ Tom 
Trigor,” and all who are like unto him, according to their de¬ 
serts. But if he speaks of the Grouse in the States of Illinois 
and Missouri, he is as far wrong in his attempts to give their natu¬ 
ral history as he is wanting in every feeling of the sportsman, in 
the article which you quote from him. My own experience is op¬ 
posed to everything he says on the subject of Grouse shooting, 
as it exists in this neighborhood. I have shot Grouse in the 
first week of August,—this was before I knew better, and I will 
never do it again,—in the middle of that month, at the close of 
it, in all of September, in October, and November. I condemn, as 
decidedly as any one, the shooting of any bird of game before it 
is strong on the wing. I consider the first of August too early for 
Grouse shooting, yet I can assure you there is good sport by the 
middle of that month. The birds are of full size, full fledged, 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


259 


strong on the wing, and hereabouts, at least, wild enough at times 
during that month to task the best gun that ever was fired. The 
sport is best, however, in September and October. During these 
months the killing heat of the summer weather, which sometimes 
proves fatal to men, and frequently to dogs and horses on the 
prairie, is moderated; the birds acquire an increase of strength, 
but not of size, and get under way in a shorter time after rising 
than during the summer. They do not lie so well before the 
dog, but the scent of the Grouse seems so strong, that most 
pointers stand at the distance of from ten to twenty yards from 
them, unless in very warm weather: and it is certainly much 
more satisfactory to bag a wild, wary bird than to secure a tame 
victim. After the cold weather we sometimes have on the prai¬ 
ries early in September, the Grouse will sometimes rise for days 
together entirely out of range. But in those days, either of Sep¬ 
tember or October, when the morning is chill and frosty, and the 
middle of the day calm and warm, the best Grouse shooting of 
the whole year may be had. If they are driven from the corn 
and stubble fields at this time, just as they have completed their 
morning feed, marked down in the open prairie, and let alone for 
an hour or two, the sport is really magnificent. It is not uncom¬ 
mon at such times, to find them scattered over a space ranging 
from 20 to 60 acres. Not more than two or three will be found 
so near together as to be flushed at the same time, and very often 
they are pointed singly. They rise, to be sure, with a strong 
pinion, and get under way in an instant, but still they cannot be 
termed hard to kill, I think. I never shoot smaller shot at 
Grouse than No. 6, and after the tenth of September I shoot 
No. 5. When No. 8 or No. 7 will stop them, they are too 
young to be shot at all. The instances are comparatively few of 
their flying off with their death wound, whereas nothing is more 
common than for the Quail to do this. There is little occasion 
for shooting the birds at a greater distance than forty yards, and 
the bulk of the shots are at birds within thirty yards, during the 
month of September. In October it is sometimes otherwise, but 


260 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


the wildness of the bird at this time is greatly exaggerated. If 
men will go into the fields, rating their dogs loudly, and talking 
and laughing with each other, the birds will be wild of course. 
But throughout the three fall months, except on some few days, 
the Grouse are not too wild to be hunted with the dog in suitable 
weather. 

There are some exceptions, however, and 1 have even known 
them to occur in August. After the 15th of that month it is 
difficult to distinguish the young birds from the old by their 
weight, or even their plumage ; and it certainly is almost impos¬ 
sible to distinguish any but the most backward broods on the 
wing. The difference between the general size of the birds and 
that of a backward brood is very appreciable. It is a difference, 
not of one or two weeks, but of more than a month. No sports¬ 
man is excusable who does not spare such a feeble prey. I was 
in the field on the 14th and 15th of last August, about 30 
miles from St. Louis; and on the evenings of both days, and the 
morning of one of them, we were disappointed of our expected 
sport by reason of the wildness of the birds, although the weather 
was warm and cloudy. None of the birds we killed were too 
young—that is, we killed none which, either flying, or lying at 
our feet, or in our hands, could be distinguished from the old 
birds without a reference to marks, which would be as obvious in 
September or October as they then were. We used No. 5 shot, 
and made many shots outside of forty yards. 

The number of these birds brought to St. Louis and consumed 
annually is almost incredible. From the month of October to 
the end of February thousands are brought to St. Louis every 
week. Many find their way to New Orleans, Louisville, and 
Cincinnati. At the present rate of destruction they cannot last 
long; and such is the antipathy to laws for the preserving of 
game, that I almost despair of any legislation in their favor. 
1 here is one ground of hope, and that is not very assured. It 
arises from the importance of this bird to the farmer. Within 
late years the numbers and depredations of grasshoppers in the 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


261 


prairie farms have greatly increased. It is necessary to see the 
clouds of this insect which sometimes infest our fields, to realize 
the stories that are told us of the ravages of the locust in other 
lands. Now the increase of the numbers of the grasshopper has 
been found to keep pace with the destruction of the Prairie Hen 
or Grouse ; and, it may be, that some step may be taken by the 
Legislature of Illinois, prohibiting the killing of these birds by 
a law which would equally benefit the farmer and tend to pre¬ 
serve one of our noblest game birds. 

In July, the flesh of the Grouse is white, tender, and insipid. 
When the bird has attained his full size, his flesh is dark all over 
the body. I have heard some persons—of the class you mention 
as preferring the breast to the thighs and back bone of the ruf- 
ffed Grouse—insist that the bird was better when in its half-grown 
state than at any later period. I am decidedly of opinion, 
that until the Grouse arrives at its full size, its flavor is not per¬ 
fect, and that the bird is finer and fatter, communibus annis , in 
January, than any other month. I have been told by two of the 
best and keenest sportsmen of my acquaintance, that in the prai¬ 
ries remote not only from the cities, but farms, where the chief 
food of the Grouse consists of grasshoppers, prairie grass and 
grass seeds, the flesh has a peculiar and very fine flavor. This 
may be so, but I have never had any opportunity of testing it. 

I now proceed to my second point. I am unalterably of opin¬ 
ion that you are wrong about the mode of cooking the Grouse. I 
have fairly tried all your recipes, with a wish to be convinced of 
their excellence, and I am free to say that roast Grouse with 
bread sauce is not unsavory. But it hides its diminished head 
before Grouse properly broiled, served up very hot, and eaten 
from hot plates. I fear you are rather bigoted on this subject. 
Much theorising has hardened your heart. With the purpose of 
inducing you to review your—hasty—opinions on this vital point, 
and correct the errors of speculation by the lessons of experi¬ 
mental philosophy, I take the liberty of sending you six brace of 
Grouse, the freshest and finest I could select on this occasion. I 


262 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


have caused them to he packed in a basket, which is the best 
means I am aware of—except hanging them outside of the vehicle 
which carries them, and that is unsafe—of preserving them from 
becoming high. I hope they will reach you safely and in good 
order. Have one of these birds broiled quickly, rather under¬ 
done, as a canvass-back duck should be roasted ; let it be pep¬ 
pered and salted to your taste, and as it is removed from the 
gridiron to the hot dish, let it be just touched with a little butter. 
Eschew all sweet sauces—jelly, &c., and eat it with nothing but 
good bread, 48 hours out of the oven. Should this experiment 
not please you, try another one of the birds on the gridiron ; but 
if that too is a failure in your estimation, e’en have the rest 
cooked selon votre—mauvais ?— gout. 

I conclude this very long letter with the expression of a hope 
that you will be induced to try for yourself what Grouse shooting 
on our prairies is good for. The journey is nothing. Any one 
who has the time can enjoy it pleasantly here if he is fond of field 
sports. St. Louis is the best headquarters for a sportsman in the 
whole country, I verily believe. You will find here a cordial 
welcome, and I should be very much pleased to receive you as 
my guest. My professional engagements are so confining that I 
can but seldom enjoy the pleasure of shooting ; for our courts 
are in constant session during the whole of the hunting season, 
after the 3d Monday of September; but before that time I am 
comparatively at liberty, and there are others here, of greater 
leisure to indulge in field sports, but not more keen in their pur¬ 
suit, who will rejoice to contribute to render pleasant the visit to 
the West of a sportsman whom every other one in America 
knows by reputation at least. 

I am, sir, very respectfully, 

Your obedient servant, 

T. T. G****. 

Henry William Herbert, Esq., at the Cedars, New Jersey. 





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UPLAND SHOOTING. 


263 


AUTUMN SHOOTING. 


It is brilliant Autumn time, the most brilliant time of all, 

When the gorgeous woods are gleaming ere the leaves begin to fall; 
When the maple boughs are crimson, and the hickory shines like goal, 
When the noons are sultry hot, and the nights are frosty cold; 

When the country has no green but the sword-grass by the rill, 

And the willows in the valley, and the pine upon the hill; 

When the pippin leaves the bough, and the sumach's fruit is red, 

And the Quail is piping loud from the buckwheat where he fed; 

When the sky is blue as steel, and the river clear as glass, 

When the mist is on the mountain, and the network on the grass; 
When the harvests all are housed and the farmer’s work is done, 

And the woodland is resounding with the spaniels and the gun; 


UCH is the season of the sports¬ 
man’s adoration; to him, the lover 
of boon nature in her loveliest 
mood, these days are not, as Mr. 
Bryant in his beautiful poem has 
described them, to him at least, 
“the melancholy days,” “ the sad¬ 
dest of the year,” nor, with all 
deference to that sweet bard and 
moralist of the woods and waters, 
can I agree with him as to the tone of sentiment and feeling exci¬ 
ted by the contemplation of the scenery of an American autumn. 

It is true that we know ourselves to be looking upon, as it 
were, a hectic loveliness, which, like the glow on the cheek of 
consumptive beauty, is the precursor of decay and death. Still, 
so exquisite is that beauty, so delicious the temperature, the 
atmosphere, the aspect of the skies; so gorgeous the hues of 
forest-mantled mountain and deep woodland, that to me the 









264 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


promise of spring and the fullness of summer are both inferior 
to the serene and calm decline of the woodland year. It leads 
to death indeed; but it seems to me rather to resemble the 
tranquil and gentle close of a well-spent life, beautified by the 
consciousness of good deeds done during the heat of youth, and 
in the heyday of manhood, and enriched by the hope of glories 
to shine forth after the winter of the grave, than the termination 
of an existence to be dreaded or deplored. 

Every land has its own season of peculiar loveliness ; and if 
the sweet spring-tide of soft and dewy England, with its May 
smiles and its April tears and its rich breath of flowery fra¬ 
grance, has awakened the fond sympathies of her landscape- 
loving poets, the many-colored, purple-hazed, and silvery-skied 
autumn of America has neither been unhonored nor unsung of 
lyres worthy to hang aloft in high niches of the temple conse¬ 
crate to the noblest tongue of the modern universe. 

The true sportsman must ever be a lover of the charms of 
rural scenery, and for this among other things I love and honor 
sportsmanship. I do not believe that any genuine forester, be 
his exterior as rough as the shell of the prickly chestnut, but 
must have within his heart, though he may lack words to define 
the sentiment, something of the painter’s spirit, and the poet’s 
fire. The very nature of his pursuits must needs awaken 
contemplation and induce thought, and I have often observed 
that the spots to which he will conduct you, apparently with¬ 
out a thought, except in reference to their convenience, 
wherein to take your noonday meal, or your afternoon siesta, 
will be the very places to charm the poet’s fancy, or fix the 
painter’s eye. 

I think no lover of nature can be an unkindly, or, at the bottom, 
an evil-minded or bad man. 

And so—and so 1 Instead of pausing longer thus, or solidly 
and solemnly discussing the theory of sporting matters, we will 
at once walk into the practice. 

We will suppose the time of the year such as our poor ballad- 
monger above quoted has, perhaps, labored to depict,—the time 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


265 


of the morning, not the peep of day, hut eight, or by’r lady ! 
nine of the Shrewsbury clock, when the autumnal sun has 
lifted his broad, jovial, ruddy face, from his dewy pillow, and 
raised it, looming large and blood-red through the thin haze, 
above the mountain’s brow. There has been a touch of frost 
during the night, and its silver fretwork is still white over the 
deep after-grass, and yet unaltered fern leaves. The air is clear 
and brisk, yet balmy, and its every breath seems to exhilarate 
the mind, as if it were champagne inspired by the nostrils. 

The scene is a broad and gentle valley, bordered on either 
side by hills, cultivated to their mid height, and crowned aloft 
with the unshorn primeval woodlands. The meadows in the 
bottom, along the clear brimful stream—in Europe it would 
aspire to be called a river—are green and soft as velvet; but 
the woods and swamps in the vale, are rich with every color that 
the painter’s pallet can afford; the blood-red foliage of the 
maples, the gold of the hickories, the chrome yellow of the 
poplars, the red russet of the oaks, the dull purple of the dog¬ 
woods, mixed with the sable green of the late alder tops, the 
everlasting verdure of the rhododendrons, and the lightsome 
greenery of the willow, forming a marvellous succession of con¬ 
trasts and accidents of light and shade, all blended into one 
harmonious whole, such as no other scene or season, no other 
clime or country, can exhibit. 

And at this time of year, at this hour of the morning, and 
into such a landscape, we will imagine a brace of sportsmen 
emerging from the doorway of the country tavern in which they 
have spent the night, with their canine companions, and a stout 
rustic follower, loaded with supernumerary shot-belts and game- 
bags, carrying in his dexter claw a stiff hickory cleaning-rod, 
and leading with his sinister a leash of large, bony, red-and- 
white Cocking Spaniels. 

Our sportsmen, for the nonce, adopting old Izaac Walton’s 
quaint nomenclature, which figureth forth something of the cha¬ 
racter from the name, we will call Agilis and Pentus. The 
former youthful, and somewhat rash, yet neither altogether ver- 


2G6 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


dant nor inexpert in the mysteries of the fowlingpiece,—the 
latter deliberate, though ardent, perfect with the gun, steady 
with the dogs, and a master of those noble sciences, hight, 
venerie, and woodcraft. 

They are both aptly habited for the field, in russet shooting- 
jackets, of strut corduroy, or fustian, long-waisted waistcoats, 
low-crowned hats, and ankle-hoots of cowhide. The younger 
man, however, sports a pair of loose, fashionably-cut trousers, 
while the elder has donned knee breeches, and tight russet lea¬ 
thern leggins. Each has a double-barrelled gun under his arm, 
and the other appliances of flask and pouch, hidden in his 
roomy pockets. Neither wears any game-bag, but an ivory 
whistle is suspended from the upper button-hole of both jackets. 

The dogs which are following, docile at the heel, are a brace 
of Setters of the highest breed, one a red dog, with a black 
nose, and without a speck of white, except a snip on his breast, 
and a tag to his fine, feathery stern,—the other black and tan; 
the perfection each, this of the Irish, that of the English strain, 
and indicating in some sort that perfection by their colors. 

“ And so, Peritus,” said the younger and slighter man, as they 
took their way through the outskirts of the village, “ you augur 
well of our chance of sport to-day V’ 

“ I do not think, Agilis,” replied his friend, “ that there is 
any chance about it. It has been a good breeding year for 
Quail, and they say that they are abundant; then the autumn 
has been seasonable, and the nights have not been sharp enough 
to banish the Woodcock. There is a bit of pretty Snipe ground 
on our beat too, and we shall get a few couple, without doubt. 
Those, with a brace or two of Ruffed Grouse, which, I dare say, 
we shall manage to pick up among the cedar knolls, and along 
the wood-edges, a few Hares, and, perhaps, some Wood-duck, 
or Teal, or even a Mallard, by chance, will make up something 
in the way of a bag.” 

“ Do you expect to find all these varieties of game 1 I have 
never shot above three kinds in a day.” 

“ Ah ! you have not shot before in autumn in America. For 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


267 


this very reason it is the prettiest and most exciting sport in the 
world; that you can never even form a conjecture what is going 
to get up before you, until you see it on the wing.. Now, my 
good friend Rusticus, will you take yourself and the Spaniels 
to the tall oak tree on the brow of the hill yonder, and do your 
best to mark down every bevy we flush, to a yard. When we 
rejoin you, we will couple up the Setters, and beat the swales 
and thickets with the little dogs. Now, hold up, lads ! look 
sharp, Agilis, they are drawing already. There has been a 
bevy running here since the sun was up. See how gingerly 
they crawl over the tainted grass. Now they are standing 
both of them. Is not that a picture V ’ 

And they stepped up to the dogs, which held their point as 
stiff and staunch as if they had been cast in bronze, or carved 
in marble. 

“Hold ! Agilis ! Don’t head them, my dear fellow. I want 
to let them go, if they will, into those sprouts on the hill side. 
They are close under the red dog’s nose. There ! they are up ! 
Steady!” 

Bang ! bang ! 

“ Bravo ! a brace, Agilis ! very neatly done, I assure you; 
you let them go far enough then, yet not too far, before firing. 
You never killed a Quail before, hey V' 

“ Never on this side the water, Peritus. In France and Spain 
I have shot a good many.” 

“ A different bird altogether, though of the same order. Not 
half so bold, or strong, or swift on the wing, as this, which some 
writers call the American Partridge.” 

“ Is it a Partridge or a Quail, Peritus, after all ?” 

“ Neither one nor the other, Agilis, an intermediate link be¬ 
tween the two, but approximating nearer to the Quail. See, 
the red dog has retrieved one—good dog, Sancho! A pretty bird, 
is it not ?” 

“ Very. But what did you do ? I was busy trying to mark 
the bevy, and did not see your shots.” 

“ Oh ! I killed two, of course. It was quite open. Did you 
mark them V’ 


268 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


“No. I could not, with certainty. But I think they dropped 
in that bog-meadow, near yon pine tree.” 

“ No, Agilis, you did not cast your eye forward sufficiently 
in watching them, as they skimmed low over the ground before 
the wind. They went four hundred yards farther, and are down 
in that thicket, with the willows at this end.” 

“ Aye! you have a keen eye, Peritus. Well, let us follow 
them at once.” 

“ Practice is more than keenness of sight, in marking. But 
we will by no means follow them at once. We must find seve¬ 
ral other bevies, and drive them, if possible, the same way ” 

“ Must we,—that seems strange.” 

“ Yes. I will tell you about it at luncheon time ; but now 
come on. The dogs are roading another bevy. Look forward 
beyond the crag there, by the cedars.” 

But Peritus was in error; it was not another bevy, but a 
Ruffed Grouse, which rose a moment afterward with a loud 
whirring, out of a brake, and was cut down handsomely by the 
older sportsman, after being missed by Agilis; who, fluttered by 
the noise, shot a little too quickly at him. 

Five minutes afterward the black Setter stood suddenly and 
dead, in a dry maize-stubble, before Agilis, and a moment later 
Sancho drew, and came to a doubtful point in an opposite direc¬ 
tion, without seeing his companion. 

“ Look alive, Agilis; that is either a Cock or a Hare before 
you, and Sancho is upon a running bevy.” 

It was, sure enough, a Hare ; which bounced up instantly out 
of its form, among some long grass and weeds in the maize- 
stubble, and was tumbled over before it had run many yards, 
by Agilis. At the report the bevy of Quail rose wild, and at a 
long distance; which did not, however, hinder Peritus from drop¬ 
ping one, killed clean at fifty yards, or upward. 

“ A long shot, and a good one !” said Agilis. 

“ It was an Eley’s cartridge. Loose shot would scarce have 
stopped him. Those birds have gone into the saplings on the 
hill-side, and they, I doubt not, are full of Woodcock. We are 
sure of sport now.” 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


269 


£iian we go after this bevy ?” 

“ Not yet, I had rather wait till they begin to run, we may 
very likely miss them otherwise.” 

On they went, therefore, and perfectly right were they to go 
on ; for Perrins’ mode of beating for Quail is the true one 
This cunning little bird, having either the power, or the pecu 
liarity, of retaining its scent for some short time after alighting, 
when it is alarmed, so that the best dogs in the world shall fail 
to find it. This may be an accidental provision of nature, pos¬ 
sibly owing to some contraction of the pores, and consequent 
check of the odoriferous effluvium, owing to alarm; but I am 
rather inclined to believe that it is an absolute power of the 
bird, and arising from an exertion of will,—since I have inva¬ 
riably observed, during the period in which the Quail gives 
forth no scent, it cannot be forced to rise even in the openest 
and most easy ground, unless actually almost trodden on. 

I have repeatedly marked Quail, literally to a yard, both in 
open bog-meadows, and in woods of tall timber, clear of under¬ 
brush, and have beat unsuccessfully with good dogs, immedi¬ 
ately after marking them, until almost convinced that I was 
mistaken in the fact of their having dropped where I imagined. 
Yet, on returning afterward, when they had begun to move 
about, and call a little, I have found my first opinion to be cor¬ 
rect. 

On one occasion, I distinctly remember marking three Quail 
into a little briar patch, on a dry tussocky meadow, and seven 
more of the same bevy some fifty or sixty yards farther, into 
long grass and rushes, by the margin of a boggy stream, under 
willows. 

At this time I was perfectly aware of the peculiarity of which 
I am speaking; but, owing to the lay of the ground, and the 
direction of my beat, I had no option but to try it at once. I beat 
the briar patch, which could not have exceeded twenty yards in 
diameter, carefully to and fro, with a brace of Setters, crossing 
and recrossing it, and myself kicking and trampling the bushes, 
but in vain. 


270 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


On coming under the willows, both dogs stood instantaneous¬ 
ly on two different birds, which proved, however, to be Wood¬ 
cock. Eight or nine of these latter birds we flushed and 
bagged, without moving any Quail except one which I almost 
trod upon, a second after my best dog had gone within a foot of 
it, taking no notice of its presence. My companions laughed at 
me, for expressing an opinion that the Quail were still there, 
within a few yards of us; but it proved that I was not in error. 

A Woodcock went away unshot at, or at least unwounded, 
and led us a long stretch off the direction of our intended beat; 
while hunting for it we found another bevy of Quail scattered, 
and had some sport with it, by which we were amused and 
occupied during half an hour. Returning across the first 
ground, we got six points at six single birds, Quail, under the 
willows; and in consequence went back into the briar patch, 
scarcely entering it before the Setters stood on the first three. 

The fact is difficult to explain, but a fact it is; and it occurs 
only with the unwounded birds. I have never known Setters • 
to have the smallest difficulty in footing crippled Quail, which 
always run or tumble about as soon as they alight, or in point¬ 
ing dead Quail. I have even seen dogs find one dead Quail 
among a whole bevy of live ones, which they could not scent 
at that time, but which they did subsequently hunt up in good 
style. 

Therefore, I say Peritus was in the right of it, in drawing 
his distinction as he did on that day; for he not only improved 
his chance of finding more bevies by pursuing them while 
they were on the run in the early morning, and so scattering 
them into good shooting covert, where he was sure to find them 
again during the basking hours, when, unless flushed and 
marked down before, they can scarcely be raised, but increased 
the likelihood of finding his birds in good style. And all this 
he explained, in many more words than I have space to use, 
and with many an apt illustration, while he and Agilis were 
lying down under a sunny bank by a clear springhead, regaling 
themselves an hour or two after noon, with the cold chicken and 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


271 


the sherry which Peritus had recommended as the best form 
ofluncheon. 

“ I have no doubt you are perfectly right about this, Peritus,” 
said his friend. “ Indeed, the practice has proved the principle, 
for we have got forty-five or forty-six Quail between us, out of 
those first four bevies, besides thirty Cock. It is glorious sport, 
indeed.” 

“ Not very bad, certainly, Agilis; and you have shot welJ 
too, which inclines you to think of the sport, perhaps, with more 
than ordinary complacency. But mark me, if we had followed 
up that first bevy we should not have flushed or marked the 
other five, all of which, you remember, the dogs trailed as they 
were rambling about on the feed, before the day got warm. 
It would have occupied us till eleven o’clock to pick up that 
one bevy, had we been able to move it, which is doubtful; and 
by that time all the others would have huddled themselves 
away into some little dry sunny nook or o flier, where it would 
have been ten to one against our stumbling upon them. As it 
is, before that same hour we had stirred six bevies, four of 
which we have used up, while I hear the other two calling even 
now in that great swamp, where we will give a good account 
of them likewise, when we have finished these cigars. 

“ Aye ! I observe all this, and see the sportsmanship of it, 
Peritus ; what noble birds, moreover, these autumn Woodcock 
are. All full grown birds, with fine gray foreheads, and pink 
legs. They must weigh one-third more each than the young¬ 
lings we slaughtered in July.” 

“True, O king! at least one-third more. Now, don’t you 
think we ought to give up summer Cock shooting Y* 

“ I never thought otherwise. What between the thermome¬ 
ter at ninety in the shade, and the myriads of mosquitoes, I do 
not look upon summer shooting as fit sport for any man who is 
not as thick-shelled as a lobster, and him it would be likely to 
boil.” 

“ What autumn shooting we should have, if they would but 
abolish summer Cock shooting, and enforce their own laws !” 
vol. i. 20 


272 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


“ Aye! indeed, but let us on. My cigar is finished. Hush! 
hush ! What are those V* 

“ Wood-duck, by Jupiter! eight of them; and they have drop¬ 
ped in the bed of the brook, just under the big white oak tree ; 
they are after the acorns. Keep the dogs close, good Rusticus ; 
now, Agilis, cram down an Ely’s cartridge in each barrel and 
let us steal down upon them. Try to get a sitting shot on the 
water first, and then give them the second barrel as they rise.” 

“ Excellent! excellent, Peritus. I see your words are about 
to be made good. I have bagged a Mallard already, and you 
two green-winged Teal—” 

“And a Pin-tail,” answered Peritus, “besides Grouse, Quail, 
Hare and Woodcock. And now we will have four or five 
Wood-duck; and there are the Snipe bogs. Off with you, but 
keep your head down and crawl low; the Wood-duck is not, 
however, a wild Duck.” 

Within ten minutes four barrels sent forth their contents, and 
five Ducks came to bag, and thence the friends went forward 
to the Snipe ground, where some eighteen or twenty long bills 
were picked up, fat, large and lazy ; and thence again into the 
wide deep swampy woodlands, where the yelping of the Span¬ 
iels, the flip-flap of the rising Woodcock, the whirr of the startled 
Quail, and the louder hurtling of the Ruffed Grouse, succeeded 
rapidly by the loud ringing gunshots, gave note of glorious 
sport until sundown, when the increasing darkness put a stop 
to the joyous labors of the unwearied sportsmen. The tale of 
that day’s bag, and it was a real day, and a real bag, was as 
follows: 

Seven Ruffed Grouse, sixty-two Quail, forty Cock, nine 
teen Snipe, nine Hares, five Wood-duck, two green-winged 
Teal, a Mallard, and a Pin-tail, brought to bag by two guns, 
in about eight hours’ shooting—one hundred and sixty-six head 
of game, of nine different varieties. 

That is the best day’s sport I ever saw; I fear I never shall 
see such another, certainly I shall not in the same region. 

Nothing in the way of sport can, I think, be better, and such 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


273 


was twelve years since within fifty miles off New-York, such is 
in the interior of the southern tier of counties of that State, and 
such is in hundreds and hundreds of places in the West, the 
autumn shooting of America. 

And that, mine English readers, without a game-keeper or a 
preserve in all the length and breadth of the land ; and, I might 
almost say without a game-law,* so limited is the sphere ol 
operation of these latter, so narrow and perverse their enact¬ 
ments, and—above all—so little are they regarded. But this 
alas! will soon, if not amended, abolish altogether the Field 
Sports of America. 


P. S. The above note, when published, was subsequently discovered 
to be premature, and, as concerns Rockland County, is still unfortunately 
incorrect. With regard to Orange County, it exists now as above stated, 
having been passed by the Supervisors of that County, to whom the de¬ 
partment of Game Laws has recently been entrusted by an act of the 
State Legislature 
March, 1851 


274 


FRANK FORESTER^ FIELD SPORTS. 


RAIL; AND RAIL SHOOTING. 


HIS singular and delicious little bird 
is so peculiar in its character and 
habits, although of an order which 
affords several species of our most 
esteemed game, viz.: Grallatores, and 
the mode of pursuing and shooting it 
is so distinct from any other kinds of 
sport, that I have judged it best te 
keep it under a head entirely separate from other held sports, 
with no one of which, in truth, has it the smallest connexion 01 
alliance. 

“ Rcdlus Carolinus—Ortygometra Carolinus—the Carolina Rail— 
the Sora Rail — vulgo, the Rail. 



“ Male 9?.14. 

“ Passes across the United States, both by the interior and 
along the coast. Some breed in New Jersey. Rarely seen 
east of Massachusetts. Extremely abundant in autumn on the 
Delaware and other streams furnished with wild oats. A few 
reside in Florida and Louisiana in winter. 

“ Adult male. 

“ Bill shorter than the head, rather stout, deep, compressed, 
tapering. Upper mandible with the dorsal outline nearly 
straight, being slightly convex toward the end, the ridge flattisli 
for a very short space at the base, very slightly extended on the 
forehead, narrow in the rest of its extent; the sides convex 
toward the end, the edges sharp, inflected, with a slight sinus 





UPLAND SHOOTING. 


275 


close to the tip. Nasal groove broad, and extending to two- 
thirds of the length of the bill. Nostrils linear, lateral, sub- 
medial, pervious. Lower mandible with the angle long and 
narrow, the sides erect, the dorsal line sloping upward, the 
edges inflected, the tip narrowed, the gap line straight. 

“ Head rather small, oblong, compressed. Neck of moderate 
length. Body rather slender, much compressed. Feet of mod¬ 
erate length, rather stout; tibia bare a short way above the 
joint; tarsus of ordinary length, compressed, anteriorly covered 
with broad scutella, posteriorly with smaller, and on the sides 
reticulated. Hind toe very short and slender, middle toe 
longest, and longer than the tarsus, fourth considerably shorter 
than the third, and a little longer than the second; toes free, 
scutellate above, much compressed, with an inferior sharp 
margin. Claws rather long, exceedingly compressed, slightly 
arched, tapering to a fine point, flat, and marginate beneath. 

“ Plumage rather stiff, but blended, slightly glossed above. 
Feathers of the forehead with the shaft enlarged and slightly 
extended beyond the tip. Wings short and broad. Alula 
large ; primaries curved, broad, tapering, but rounded, second 
longest, third scarcely shorter, first equal to sixth; secondaries 
broad and rounded. Tail extremely short, much rounded, of 
twelve feeble rounded feathers; the upper and lower tail cov¬ 
erts nearly as long as the tail feathers. 

“ Bill, yellow at the base, dusky toward the end. Iris bright 
chestnut. Feet yellowish-green ; claws light-brown. A broad 
band surrounding the base of the bill, the central part of the 
crown, the chin, and the fore-neck in its whole length, brown¬ 
ish-black. Ear coverts olive-brown ; a band over the pye, the 
cheeks and the sides of the neck ash-grey. Sides of the crown, 
the hind-neck, and the rest of the upper parts olive-brown. The 
feathers brownish-black in the centre, those on the back with 
two marginal lines of white. Smaller wing coverts of a lighter 
brown; secondary coverts margined with black and white 
markings ; quills dusky olive-brown, as is the tail. Middle of 
breast and abdomen greyish-white ; sides barred with brownish 


276 


FRANK FORESTER^ FIELD SPORTS. 


black and greyish-white, as are the lateral feathers of the rump; 
those of the abdomen reddish-yellow. 

“ Length to end of tail, 9 r 3 2 inches; to end of wings, 8f ; to 
end of claws, 12 ; extent of wings, 14 ; wing from flexure, 4; 
tail, 2 ; bill along the ridge, ff; along the edge of the lower 
mandible, ff; tarsus, 1^; its middle toe, 1^; its claw, 43 V* 
Weight, 7 oz. 

“ Adult female. 

“ The female differs considerably from the male in coloring. 
The naked parts and iris are similar, as are the upper parts 
generally; but the black around the base of the bill, on the 
head and fore-neck, is wanting, the fore parts of the head being 
light-brown, the chin whitish, the sides of the neck light grey¬ 
ish-brown. The white lines of the back are duller, and the 
dark bands of the sides of a lighter tint. 

“ Young male. 

“ The young male, after its first moult, is intermediate in color 
between the adult male and the female, but more like the lat¬ 
ter, the black on the head and fore-neck appearing in spots, 
and the sides of the neck being nearly as in the female.”— 
Audubon's Birds of America. 

“Of all our land or water fowl, perhaps none afford the sports¬ 
man more agreeable amusement or a more delicious repast 
than the little bird now before us. This amusement is indeed 
temporary, lasting only two or three hours in the day, for four 
or five weeks in each year, but as it occurs in the most agree¬ 
able and temperate of our seasons, is attended with little or no 
fatigue to the gunner, and is frequently successful, it attracts 
numerous followers, and is pursued in such places as the birds 
frequent, with great eagerness and enthusiasm. 

“ The natural history of the Rail, or as it is called in Virginia 
the Sora, and in South Carolina the Coot, is to the most of our 
sportsmen involved in profound and inexplicable mystery. It 
comes they know not whence, and goes they know not where. 
No one can detect their first moment of arrival; yet all at once 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


277 


the reedy shores and grassy marshes of our large rivers swarm 
with them, thousands being sometimes found within the space of 
a few acres. These, when they do venture on wing, seem to fly 
so feebly, and in such short fluttering flights among the reeds, as 
to render it highly improbable to most people that they could 
possibly make their way over an extensive tract of country. Yet 
on the first smart frost that occurs, the whole suddenly disap¬ 
pear, as they had never been. 

“To account for these extraordinary phenomena, it has been 
supposed by some that they bury themselves in the mud, but as 
this is every year dug up into ditches, by people repairing the 
banks, without any of these sleepers being found, where but a 
few weeks before these birds were innumerable, this theory has 
been abandoned. And here their researches into this mysteri¬ 
ous matter, generally end in the common exclamation of, What 
can become of them ] Some profound inquirers, however, not 
discouraged with these difficulties, have prosecuted their re¬ 
searches with more success, and one of these being a few years 
ago near the mouth of James River, in Virginia, where the 
Rail, or Sora, are extremely numerous, has, as I was informed 
on the spot, lately discovered that they change into Frogs, 
having himself found in his meadows an animal of an extraordi¬ 
nary kind, that appeared to be neither a Sora nor a Frog, 
but, as he expressed it, something between the two. He car¬ 
ried it to his negroes, and afterwards took it home, where it 
lived three days, and in his own, and in his negroes’ opinion, it 
looked like nothing in this world but a real Sora changed into a 
Frog ! What farther confirms this grand discovery, is the well- 
known circumstance of the Frogs ceasing to halloo as soon as 
the Sora comes in the fall. 

“ This sagacious discovery, however, like many others re¬ 
nowned in history, has found but few supporters, and except his 
own negroes, has not, as far as I can learn, made a single con¬ 
vert to his opinion. 

“ Matters being so circumstanced, and some explanation ne¬ 
cessary, I shall endeavor to throw a little more light on the 


278 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


subject by a simple detail of facts, leaving the reader to form 
his own theory as he pleases. 

“ The Rail, or Sora, belongs to a genus of birds of which about 
thirty different species are enumerated by naturalists, and these 
are distributed on almost every region of the habitable parts of 
the earth. The general character of these is every where the 
same. They run swiftly, fly slowly and usually with the legs 
hanging down, become extremely fat, are fond of concealment, 
and whenever it is practicable, prefer running to flying. Most 
of them are migratory, and abound during the summer in cer¬ 
tain countries, the inhabitants of which have very rarely an 
opportunity of seeing them. Of this last, the Land Rail of 
Britain is a striking example. This bird, which during the 
summer months may be heard in almost every grass and clover 
field in the kingdom, uttering its common note, ‘ crek, crelcj from 
sunset to a late hour in the night, is yet unknown by sight to 
more than nine-tenths of the inhabitants. 

“ Its well-known cry, says Bewick, is first heard as soon as 
the grass becomes long enough to shelter it, and continues till 
the grass is cut, but the bird is seldom seen, for it constantly 
skulks among the thickest part of the herbage, and runs so 
nimbly through it, winding and doubling in every direction, 
that it is difficult to come near it. When hard pushed by the 
dog, it sometimes stops short and squats down, by which means 
its too eager pursuer overshoots the spot and loses the trace. 

“ It seldom springs, but when driven to extremity, and gene¬ 
rally flies with its legs hanging down, but never to a great 
distance ; as soon as it alights it runs off, and before the fowler 
has reached the spot the bird is at a considerable distance. 

“ The Water-crake, or Spotted Rail of the same country, 
which in its plumage approaches nearer to our Rail, is another 
notable example of the same general habit of the genus. Its 
common abode, says the same writer, is in low, swampy 
grounds, in which are pools or streamlets overgrown with 
willows, reeds and rushes, where it lurks and hides itself with 
great circumspection. It is wild, solitary and sly, and will 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


279 


swim, dive and skulk under any cover, and sometimes suffer 
itself to be knocked on the head, rather than rise before the 
sportsman and his dog. The Water Rail of the same country 
is noted for the like habits. In short, the whole genus possess 
this strange family character in a very remarkable degree. 

“ These three species are well known to migrate into Britain 
early in the spring, and to leave it for the more southern parts 
of Europe in autumn. Yet they are rarely or never seen in 
their passage to or from the countries, where they are regularly 
found at different seasons of the year, and this for the very 
same reasons, that they are so rarely seen even in the places 
they inhabit. It is not, therefore, at all surprising, that the re¬ 
gular migrations of the American Rail, or Sora, should in like 
manner have escaped notice in a country like this, whose popu¬ 
lation bears so small a proportion to its extent, and where the 
study of natural history is so little attended to. But that these 
migrations do actually take place, from north to south, and vice 
versa , may be fairly inferred from the common practice of thou 
sands of other species of birds, less solicitous of concealment, 
and also from the following facts :— 

“ On the 22d day of February, I killed two of these birds in 
the neighborhood of Savannah, in Georgia, where they have 
never been observed during the summer. On the second day 
of the May following, I shot another in a watery thicket, below 
Philadelphia, between the rivers Schuylkill and Delaware, in 
what is usually called the Neck. This last was a male in full 
plumage. We are also informed that they arrive at Hudson’s 
Bay early in June, and again leave that settlement for the 
South early in autumn. 

“ That many of them also remain here to breed, is proved by 
the testimony of persons of credit and intelligence, with whom 
I have conversed, both here and on James River, in Virginia, 
who have seen their nests, eggs, and young. In the extensive 
meadows that border the Schuylkill and Delaware, it was for* 
merly common, before the country was so thickly settled, to 
find young Rail in the first mowing time, among the grass 


280 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


Mr. James Bartram, brother to the botanist, a venerable and 
still active man, of eighty-three, and well acquainted with this 
bird, says, that he has often seen and caught young Rail in his 
own meadows, in the month of June ; he has also seen the nest, 
which, he says, is usually in a tussock of grass, is formed of a 
little dry grass, and had four or five eggs of dirty whitish color, 
with brown, or blackish spots. The young run off as soon as 
they break the shell, are then quite black, and run about among 
the grass, like mice. The old ones he has very rarely observed 
at that time, but the young often. Almost every old settler along 
these meadows, with whom T have conversed, has occasionally 
seen young Rail in mowing time, and all agree in describing 
them as covered with blackish down. There can, therefore, be 
no reasonable doubt as to the residence of many of those birds, 
both here and to the northward, during the summer. 

“ That there can be as little doubt as to their winter retreat, 
will appear more particularly towards the sequel of the present 
account. 

“ During their residence here in summer, their manners exactly 
correspond with those of the Water-crake of Britain, already 
quoted, so that though actually a different species, their parti¬ 
cular habits, common places of resort, and eagerness for con¬ 
cealment, are as nearly the same as the nature of the climates 
will admit. 

“ Early in August, when the reeds along the shores of the De¬ 
laware have attained their full growth, the Rail resort to them 
in great numbers, to feed on the seeds of this plant, of which 
they, as well as the Rice-birds, and several others, are immo¬ 
derately fond. These reeds, which appear to be the Zizania 
panicula ejfusa of Linnaeus, and the Zizania clavulosa of Willin- 
den, grow up from the soft muddy shores of the tide-water, 
which are, alternately, dry, and covered with four or five feet of 
water. They rise with an erect tapering stem, to the height of 
eight or ten feet, being nearly as thick below as a man’s wrist, 
and cover tracts along the river for many acres. The cattle 
feed on their long, green leaves, with avidity, and wade in after 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


281 


them as far as they dare safely venture. They grow up so close 
together, that except at or near high water, a boat can with 
difficulty make its way through among them. The seeds are 
produced at the top of the plant, the blossoms, or male parts, 
occupying the lower branches of the pannicle, and the seeds the 
higher. The seeds are nearly as long as a common-sized pin, 
somewhat more slender, white, sweet to the taste, and very nu¬ 
tritive, as appears by their effects on the various birds that feed 
on them at this season. When the reeds are in this state, and 
even while in blossom, the Rail are found to have taken pos¬ 
session of them in great numbers. These are generally nume¬ 
rous, in proportion to the full and promising crop of the former. 
As you walk along the embankment of the river, at this season, 
you hear them squeaking in every direction, like young puppies. 
If a stone be thrown among the reeds, there is a general out¬ 
cry, and a reiterated kuk , huh , lack ,—something like that of a 
Guinea-fowl. Any sudden noise, or discharge of a gun, pro¬ 
duces the same effect. In the meantime, none are to be seen, 
unless it be at or near high water,—for when the tide is low, 
they universally secrete themselves among the interstices of the 
reeds; and you may walk past, and even over them, where 
there are hundreds, without seeing a single individual. On their 
first arrival, they are generally lean and unfit for the table, but 
as the seeds ripen, they rapidly fatten, and from the 20th Sep¬ 
tember to the middle of October, are excellent, and eagerly 
sought after. The usual method of shooting them in this quar¬ 
ter of the country, is as follows. 

“ The sportsman furnishes himself with a light batteau, and a 
stout, experienced boatman, with a pole of twelve or fifteen feet 
long, thickened at the lower end, to prevent it from sinking too 
deep in the mud. About two hours or so before high water, 
they enter the reeds, and each takes his post,—the sportsman 
standing in the bow, ready for action, the boatman on the stem- 
beat, pushing her steadily through the reeds. The Rail gene¬ 
rally spring singly as the boat advances, and at a short distance 
a-head, are instantly shot down, while the boatman, keeping 


282 


FRANK FORESTER'S FIELD SPORTS. 


his eye on the spot where the bird fell, directs the boat forward, 
and picks the bird up, while the gunner is loading. It is also 
the boatman’s business to keep a sharp look-out, and give the 
word ‘ Mark,’ when a Rail springs on either side, without being 
observed by the sportsman, and to note the exact spot where it 
falls, until he has picked it up ; for this once lost sight of, owing 
to the sameness in the appearance of the reeds, is seldom found 
again. In this manner the boat moves steadily through and 
over the reeds, the birds flushing and falling, the gunner load¬ 
ing and firing, while the boatman is pushing and picking up. 
The sport continues an hour or two after high water, when 
the shallowness of the water, and the strength and weight of 
the floating reeds, as also the backwardness of the game to 
spring, as the tide decreases, oblige them to return. Several 
boats are sometimes within a short distance of each other, and 
a perpetual cracking of musketry prevails above the whole 
reedy shores of the river. In these excursions, it is not un¬ 
common for an active and expert marksman to kill ten or twelve 
dozen in a tide. They are usually shot singly, though I have 
known five killed at one discharge of a double-barrelled piece. 
These instances, however, are rare. The flight of these birds 
among the reeds, is usually low, and shelter being abundant, is 
rarely extended to more than fifty or one hundred yards. When 
winged, and uninjured in their legs, they swim and dive with 
great rapidity, and are seldom seen to rise again. I have seve¬ 
ral times, on such occasions, discovered them clinging with their 
feet to the reeds under the water, and at other times skulking 
under the floating reeds, with their bills just above the surface; 
sometimes, when wounded, they dive, and rising under the gun 
wale of the boat, secrete themselves there, moving round as the 
boat moves, until they have an opportunity of escaping unno¬ 
ticed. They are feeble and delicate in everything except the 
legs, which seem to possess great vigor and energy ; and their 
bodies being so remarkably thin, are compressed so as to be less 
than an inch and a quarter through transversely, they are ena¬ 
bled to pass between the reeds like rats. When seen, they aro 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


283 


almost constantly jetting up the tail, yet though their flight 
among the reeds seem feeble and fluttering, every sportsman 
who is acquainted with them here, must have seen them occa¬ 
sionally rising to a considerable height, stretching out their legs 
behind them, and flying rapidly across the river, where it is 
more than a mile in width. Such is the mode of Rail shooting 
in the neighborhood of Phil adelphia. 

“ In Virginia, particularly along the shores of James River, 
within the tide water, where the Rail, or Sora, are in prodigious 
numbers, they are also shot on the wing, but more usually taken 
at night in the following manner:— 

“ A kind of iron grate is fixed on the top of a stout pole, which 
is placed like a mast in a light canoe, and filled with fire. The 
darker the night, the more successful is the sport. The person 
who manages the canoe, is provided with a light paddle, ten or 
twelve feet in length ; and about an hour before high water, pro¬ 
ceeds through among the reeds, which lie broken and floating on 
the surface. The whole space, for a considerable way round 
the canoe, is completely enlightened,—the birds start with as¬ 
tonishment, and, as they appear, are knocked over the head with 
a paddle, and thrown into the canoe. In this manner, from 
twenty to eighty dozen have been killed by three negroes in the 
short space of three hours. 

“ At the same season, or a little earlier, they are very nume¬ 
rous in the lagoons near Detroit, on our northern frontier, 
where another species of reed, of which they are equally fond, 
grows in shallows in great abundance. Gentlemen who have 
shot them there, and on whose judgment I can rely, assure me 
that they differ in nothing from those they have usually killed 
on the shores of the Delaware and Schuylkill; they are equally 
fat and exquisite eating. 

“ On the seacoast of New-Jersey, where these are not to be 
found, this bird is altogether unknown, though along the 
marshes of Maurice River, and other tributary streams of the 
Delaware,.and where the reeds abound, the Rail are sure to be 
found also. Most of them leave Pennsylvania before the end of 


284 


FRANK FORESTERS FIELD SPORTS. 


October, and the Southern States early in November, though 
numbers linger in the warm southern marshes the whole winter. 

“A very worthy gentleman—Mr. Harrison—who lives in 
Kittiwan, near a creek of that name, on the borders of James 
River, informed me, in burning his meadows early in March, 
they generally raise and destroy several of these birds. 

“ That the great body of these Rail winter in countries be¬ 
yond the United States, is rendered highly probable, from their 
being so frequently met with at sea, between our shores and 
the West India Islands. 

“A Captain Douglas informed me, that on his voyage from 
St. Domingo to Philadelphia, and more than a hundred miles 
from the Capes of the Delaware, one night the man at the 
helm was alarmed by a sudden crash on deck, that broke the 
glass in the binnacle, and put out the light. On examining into 
the cause, three Rail were found on deck, two of which were 
killed on the spot, and the other died soon after. 

“ The late Bishop Madison, President of William and Mary 
College, Virginia, assured me that a Mr. Skipwith, for some 
time our Consul in Europe, on his return to the United States, 
when upwards of three hundred miles from the Capes of the 
Chesapeake, several Rail, or Soras, I think five or six, came 
on board, and were caught by the people. Mr. Skipwith being 
well acquainted with the bird, assured him that they were the 
very same with those usually killed on James River. 

“ I have received like assurances from several other gentle¬ 
men, and captains of vessels, who have met with those birds be¬ 
tween the main land and the islands, so as to leave no doubt on 
my mind as to the fact. For why should it be considered in¬ 
credible, that a bird which can both swim and dive well, and at 
pleasure fly with great rapidity, as I have myself frequently wit¬ 
nessed, should be incapable of migrating, like so many others, 
over extensive tracts of land or sea 1 Inhabiting as they do the 
remote regions of Hudson’s Bay, where it is impossible they 
could subsist during the rigor of the winter, they must either 
emigrate from there, or perish ; and as the same places in Penr 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


285 


sylvania, which abound with them in October, are often laid 
under ice and snow during the winter, it is as impossible that 
they could exist here in that inclement season. Heaven has, 
therefore, given them, in common with many others, certain 
prescience of these circumstances, and judgment, as well as 
strength of flight, sufficient to seek more genial climate, abound¬ 
ing with the suitable food. 

“ During the greater part of the months of September and 
October, the market of Philadelphia is abundantly supplied with 
Rail, which are sold from half a dollar to a dollar per dozen. 
Soon after the 20th of October, at which time our first smart 
frosts generally take place, these birds move off to the South. 
In Virginia they usually remain until the first week in Novem¬ 
ber. 

“ Since the above was written, I have received from Mr. 
George Ord, of Philadelphia, some curious particulars relative 
to this bird, which, as they are new, and come from a gentle¬ 
man of respectability, are worthy of being recorded, and merit 
further investigation. 

“ ‘ My personal experience/ says Mr. Ord, * has made me ac¬ 
quainted with a fact in the history of the Rail, which, perhaps, 
is not generally known,—and I shall as briefly as possible com¬ 
municate it to you. Some time in the autumn of the year 1809, 
as I was walking in a yard, after a severe shower of rain, I per¬ 
ceived the feet of a bird projecting from a spout. I pulled it 
out, and discovered it to be a Rail, very vigorous, and in per¬ 
fect health. The bird was placed in a small room, on a gun 
case, and I was amusing myself with it, when in the act of 
pointing my finger at it, it suddenly sprang forward, apparently 
much irritated, fell to the floor, and stretching out its feet, and 
bending its neck, until the head nearly touched the back be¬ 
came to all appearance lifeless. Thinking the fall had killed 
the bird, I took it up, and began to lament my rashness, in pro¬ 
voking it. In a few minutes it again breathed, and it was some 
time before it perfectly recovered from the fit into which it now 
appeared evident it had fallen. I placed the Rail in a room 


286 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


wherein Canary Birds were confined, and resolved that on the 
succeeding day, I would endeavor to discover whether or not 
the passion of anger had produced the fit. I entered the room 
at the appointed time, and approached the bird, which had re¬ 
tired on beholding me, in sullen humor, to a corner. On point¬ 
ing my finger at it, its feathers were immediately ruffled, and 
in an instant it sprang forward, as in the first instance, and fell 
into a similar fit. The following day the experiment was re¬ 
peated, with like effect. 

“ ‘ In the* fall of 1811, as I was shooting among the reeds, I 
perceived a Rail rise hut a few feet before my batteau. The 
bird had risen about a yard, when it became entangled in 
the tops of a small bunch of reeds, and immediately fell. Its 
feet and neck were extended, as in the instances above men¬ 
tioned, and before it had time to recover, I killed it. Some 
few days afterwards, as a friend and I were shooting in the 
same place, he killed a Rail, and as we approached the spot to 
pick it up, another was perched not a foot off, in a fit; I took 
up the latter and placed it in the crown of my hat; in a few 
moments it revived, and was as vigorous as ever. 

“ * These facts go to prove that the Rail is subject to gusts of 
passion, which operate to so violent a degree as to produce a 
disease similar in its effects to epilepsy. I leave the explana¬ 
tion of the phenomena to those pathologists who are competent 
and willing to investigate it. It may be worthy to remark that 
the birds affected as described, were all females, of the Galli- 
nula Carolina , or common Rail.’ 

“ The Rail, though generally reputed a simple bird, will 
sometimes manifest symptoms of considerable intelligence. To 
those acquainted with Rail shooting, it is hardly necessary to 
mention that the tide in its flux is considered an almost indis¬ 
pensable auxiliary, for when the water is off the marsh, the 
lubricity of the mud, the height and compactness of the reed, 
and the swiftness of foot of the game tend to weary the sports¬ 
man and to frustrate his endeavors. 

“ Even should he succeed in a tolerable degree, the reward is 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


287 


not commensurate to the labor. I have entered the marsh in a 
batteau, at a common tide, and in a well-known haunt, have 
beheld but a few birds. The next better tide, on our resorting 
to the same spot, I perceived abundance of game. The 
fact is, the Rail dive and conceal themselves beneath the fallen 
reed, merely projecting their heads above the surface of the 
water for air, and remain in that situation until the sportsman 
has passed them, and it is well known that it is a common prac¬ 
tice with wounded Rail to dive to the bottom, and holding on to 
some vegetable substance, support themselves in that situation 
until exhausted. 

“ During such times, the bird, in escaping from one enemy has 
often to encounter with another not less formidable. Eels and 
cat-fish swim in every direction seeking for prey, and it is ten to 
one if a wounded Rail escape them. I myself have beheld a large 
eel make off with a bird that I had shot, before I had time 
to pick it up ; and one of my boys, in bobbing for eels, caught 
one with a whole Rail in its belly. I have heard it observed 
that on the increase of the moon the Rail improves in fatness, 
and decreases in a considerable degree with that planet. Some¬ 
times I have conceited that the remark was just. If it be a 
fact, I think it may be explained on the supposition that the 
bird is enabled to feed at night as well as by day, while it has 
the benefit of the moon, and with less interruption than at other 
periods. 

“ I have had my doubts as to the propriety of classing this 
bird under the genus Rallus. Both Latham and Pennant call 
it a Gallinula, and when one considers the length and formation 
of its bill, the propriety of the nomenclature is obvious. 

“ As the article was commenced by our printers before I could 
make up my mind on the subject, the reader is requested to 
consider this species the Gallinula Carolina of Dr. Latham.”— 
Wilson’s American Ornithology. 

To set aside the possibility of continued doubt on the subject 
of the migration of the Rail, which really seems to be so per 
VOL. i. 21 


288 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


fectly a settled question, as to render it impossible that any 
sane man in America should persist in believing that this bird 
burrows and lies torpid in the mud—I have myself, however, 
met scores who do believe so—I shall quote Mr. Audubon’s 
personal observations as to the migrations of this bird, which he 
has often seen with his own eyes, and no one, who has read his 
delightful animal biographies, will doubt how keen those eyes 
are, and how accurate. 

“ This bird,” he says, “ which I think might have been named 
the Pennsylvanian or Virginian Rail, enters the union from 
the shores of Mexico, early in March, when many are seen in 
the markets of New Orleans. Some reach their northern desti¬ 
nation by ascending along the margin of our western streams, 
or by crossing the country directly, in the manner of the Wood¬ 
cock ; while those which proceed along the coast shorten their 
journey as much as possible by flying across the headlands of the 
numerous inlets or bays of our southern districts, returning or 
advancing more slowly, according to the state of the weather. 
Thus, those which cross the peninsula of Florida, through the 
marshes and lagoons which lead to the head waters of the St. 
John’s River, instead of travelling round the shores of Georgia 
and South Carolina, fly directly across toward Cape Lookout. 
It is nevertheless true, that a certain number of these birds 
follow the sinuosities of the shores, for I found some in the 
markets of Charleston, in April, that had been killed in the im¬ 
mediate neighborhood of that city, and I obtained others in 
various parts ; but the number of these is very small as com¬ 
pared with those that cross at once. When their passage takes 
place, either during calm weather, or with. a favorable wind, 
the fortunate travellers pursue their journey by entering Pam¬ 
lico Sound, and following the inner margins of the outward 
banks of this part of the coast until they reach Cape Henry. 
Thence some ascend the Chesapeake, while others make for 
the mouth of the Delaware, and these, perhaps, again meet on 
the borders of Lake Ontario, or the waters of the St. Lawrence, 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


289 


after which they soon enter those portions of the country in 
which they breed, and spend a short but agreeable season. 

“ Every person acquainted with the general movements of 
birds, either during the spring, when they pass northward, or 
the autumnal months, when they are on their way to milder 
climes, is aware that at the former period their anxiety to reach 
the breeding place is much greater than that which they feel at 
any other period. Thus, in its movement southward, the Sora, 
like all other Rails, when returning with its progeny, which are 
yet feeble, and unable to undergo much fatigue,»proceeds 
considerably slower than in spring; hence its appearance in 
autumn, in multitudes, in various places, where it is enticed, by 
an abundance of food and comparative security, to tarry for 
some time and recruit its strength. Thus in September and 
part of October, the Sora is found in great numbers on the 
borders of our great lakes, feeding. on wild oats, and on the 
reedy margins of the rivers of our middle districts. Several 
natural causes prevent birds of this species from following the 
seacoast of the United States while migrating, either in spring or 
in autumn, the principal of which is the absence of. their favor¬ 
ite Zizania marshes, which are but very rarely to be met with 
to the east of the State of New-York. This is probably the 
cause of the great rarity of this species in Massachusetts, while, 
so far as I know, none are ever found to the eastward of that 
State. These observations are corroborated by those of my 
friend, Thomas McCulloch, of Pictou, who never met with one 
of these birds during many years’ residence in that part of Nova 
Scotia. 

“ Having seen flocks of Soras winging their way close over 
the waters of the gulf of Mexico, and between Cape Florida and 
the main shores of the Carolinas, in the month of April, when 
they were moving directly toward Cape Lookout, I have very 
little doubt that many return in the same track, in the end of 
October, when the young, well-fed and strengthened, are able 
to follow their parents on wing, even across that wide expanse 
of water. I shall now dismiss this part of the subject by add- 


290 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


ing in confirmation of their capability of protracted flight, that 
some of these birds, when accidentally separated from their 
flock, have supported themselves on wing until they have met 
with vessels several hundred miles from land ; and facts of this 
kind have been announced by persons of well-known respec¬ 
tability. 

“ During the autumnal months, a goodly number of Soras 
are found in the rice fields and fresh water marshes of the 
Carolinas. Sometimes, also, they have been shot in salt water 
marshes, in spring, while on their northward migration. At 
this period they are silent until forced to fly. In those States, 
none are seen during summer, very few, it appears, remain in 
any part of the middle districts. My friend, John Bachman, 
however, was shown some eggs of this bird, that had been 
found in the meadows below Philadelphia; and whilst I was 
on a shooting expedition for Woodcock, in company with my 
friend, Edward Harris, Esq., my son shot some young birds, 
scarcely fledged, and shortly afterward, an adult female. John 
Bachman met with a nest on the shores of the Hudson, and I 
saw two in the marshes of Lake Champlain.”— Audubon's 
American Ornithology. 

I have judged it but proper to extend both my quotations on 
the habits, and my own observations on the shooting of this 
bird, to some length, as the first are very peculiar, and the lat¬ 
ter affords a sport, which though I think it for my own part, 
rather a tame amusement, is still followed with much eagerness 
and zest by sportsmen, especially on the Delaware, and on the 
great Western Lakes, where the bird, as we have seen, abounds. 

The United States contain many other species of Rail, most 
of which are at times shot by the sportsman, while in pursuit ot 
one kind or another of aquatic fowl, but none of them are suffi¬ 
ciently abundant, in certain spots or at certain seasons, unless 
it be perhaps the bird commonly known as the Mud-Hen , to be 
made the object of especial pursuit. 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


291 


This bird which is, properly, 

The Clapper Rail, or Salt Water Marsh Hen, Ral- 
lus Crepitans, is a constant resident at one period or other 
of the year, on some part of the Atlantic coasts from Long 
Island to the Gulf of Mexico. It is a large-sized bird, weighing 
11 to 12 oz., and looking much larger than it really is. They 
are shot in the bays of Long Island, and still more abundantly 
in the vicinity of Charleston, much as the Sora Rail is on the 
Delaware; the boats are, however, in this sport, if it can be 
so called—for the birds are large, clumsy, slow-moving and 
cannot be missed—propelled by oars or paddled, not by the 
pole. On Long Island and generally in the Middle States, this 
bird is called the Mud, or Meadow-Hen. 

The other species commonly met with by the sportsman are, 

The Great Red-Breasted Rail, or Fresh Water Marsh 
Hen—Rallus Elegans —commonly known in Pennsylvania 
and New-Jersey as the “ King Rail.” 

This is the largest and by far the handsomest of the tribe; its 
weight is about 11 to 13 oz.—its length 20£ inches by an alar 
extent of 22. 

It is rarely found east of Pennsylvania, although I have occa¬ 
sionally killed it in New-Jersey. It is a constant resident of 
the Southern States. 

The Virginia Rail—Rallus Virginianus. This bird 
greatly resembles the last species, though not much more than 
half its size. ' It is properly a Southern bird, but is found during 
the autumn, in small numbers along the atlantic coasts. It is 
killed both on fresh and salt water, but is nowhere exceedingly 
abundant. 

In addition to these, I may name the common Coot of Ameri¬ 
ca, and the common Gallinule, both of this same family of 
Rallid,e. They are principally Southern birds, though strag¬ 
glers are occasionally found in the Middle and Eastern States. 
They are of little worth for the sport which they afford, and still 
less for the quality of their flesh; but like many other water 
birds and waders, such as the Bitterns, Herons, Egrets, and the 


292 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


like, are usually killed by the sportsman, if encountered in pur¬ 
suit of other game, though never made the object of especial 
chase. 

None of these, however, can it be deemed unsportsmanlike 
or snobbish to shoot, while in the field, with dogs, as it is to kill 
Pigeons, Meadow Larks, Thrushes, or the like, since their haunts 
and habits are generally in some sort like game-like, and dogs 
will, for the most part, draw on them, if not stand them dead. 

None of these, however, require any fuller notice than the 
above, and hence I proceed to shooting the Sora Pail on the 
Delaware. 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


293 


RAIL SHOOTING. 


ROM the middle of August, until 
the setting in of wintry frosts, 
the pursuit of this curious, and ex¬ 
cellent little bird, may be followed 
in the localities which he fre¬ 
quents, by those who care for the 
sport. 

It is not by any means compa¬ 
rable to those kinds of shooting, 
which are followed with dogs in the field, among varied scenery 
and diverse accidents of sport; nor is the bird very sporting in 
its habits, nor is much skill required to shoot him. 

He is, however, delicious to eat; he literally abounds on the 
reedy mud-flats of those rivers which he affects ; and his season 
is one at which there is little or no other occupation for the 
sportsman. So that, between the epicurean desire for his flesh, 
the absence of more agreeable and exciting sport, and the very 
easiness of the pursuit, which, to young hands and bad shots, is 
a recommendation, the Rail is very eagerly pursued; and dur¬ 
ing those periods of the tide, which permit his pursuit, a stran¬ 
ger might well believe, during the Rail season, almost anywhere 
on the Delaware, sixty miles below, or thirty above Philadel¬ 
phia, that the outposts of two armies were engaged in a brisk 
skirmish, so incessant is the rattle of small arms. 

It is the habit of this little bird to skulk and run among the 
reeds and water-oats of the flats which he inhabits; and, owing 
to the peculiar form of his long, flat-sided, wedge-like body, 
with the legs situated far behind, and the wings closely com- 











294 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


pressed, he can pass with such ease and celerity among the 
close stalks of the water-plants, that the sharpest dogs cannot 
compel him to take wing ; and so thoroughly is he aware of this 
advantage which he possesses, and of the peril he runs in rising 
before the gun, that it is utterly useless to attempt beating for 
him with dogs on foot, or to think of walking, or kicking him up 
from his lurking places, when the tide is down. 

As soon, however, as it has risen high enough to allow a boat 
to be forced through the partially submerged, partially floating 
grass, unable to run, from want of a solid substructure on which 
to tread, or to swim, from the denseness of the vegetation, he 
has no choice but to rise, which he does reluctantly, and not until 
the bows of the boat are close upon him. 

His flight is then slow and heavy, with the legs hanging down, 
and the wings heavily flapping, and it is rarely protracted to 
above thirty or forty yards of distance. It is exceedingly easy 
to kill him, therefore ; so much so, that as soon as he mastered 
the slight difficulty of getting accustomed to the motion of the 
boat, and got what a sailor would call his sea legs on board, the 
merest tyro, who can cover a bird on the wing in the slowest 
conceivable motion, and pull an inexpert trigger, can scarce fail 
to bag many of these birds in succession. 

The boat used is a long, light, flat-bottomed, sharp-built skiff, 
—flat to draw as little water as possible, sharp to force its way 
through the heavy tangled water-plants. In the bow of this the 
shooter stands erect, balancing himself in the ricketty rocking 
egg shell, for it is little more, while the pole-man stands behind 
him, propelling the vessel with his long punt-pole, the more ra¬ 
pidly the better, through the weeds and grass. 

The pole-man’s duty is to steer and urge the boat, both of 
which are done by the same instrument, to mark the dead birds, 
and collect them, and to get the advantage of all other boats for 
his shooter. This marking is by no means an easy task; as the 
vast expanse of level green herbage affords no points, or marks, 
by which to identify the spot where the bird has fallen ; and, 
moreover, the reeds and grass are so thick, and so similar in 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


295 


color to the plumage of the Rail, that unless it is marked with 
the most perfect accuracy, literally to a foot’s space, it is almost 
useless to look for it. So many boats, moreover, are darting 
about in all directions, the rival pole-men driving their skiffs 
with all attainable velocity, and the emulous shooters banging 
away at the thick-rising birds, without much caring whether 
some other sportsman be or be not within the range, and in the 
line of shot, that in order to get good sport, not a moment must 
be lost in bagging the dead birds,—cripples it is impossible to 
bag, so quickly do they dive, and so cunningly do they skulk,— 
and that at best it is a matter of some, little risk. 

Fortunately, the bird is so easily killed, and the range of his 
flight is so small, that very light charges, and very small shot, are 
in use. With the recklessness I have seen displayed in this 
sport, were large charges, and heavy shot used, it would be an 
affair of‘real danger to shoot at Dullman’s Flats, at the mouth 
of the Nesliaminy, or at Perkins’ Flats, or Newbold’s Island— 
the best places above Philadelphia, on the Delaware, and the 
only places, with the exception of a small flat, of an acre or two 
in extent, before my own door on the Passaic, where I have 
ever shot Rail. 

The great onus and excellence of the sport depends, as it will 
readily be seen, on the pole-man, or pusher, and with two 
equally good shots, it shall make a difference of nearly half the 
bag, which has the better assistant. The skill at marking dead 
birds, the rapidity of bagging them, and the adroitness at push¬ 
ing, to which some of these men attain, is truly remarkable ; 
and accustomed to the society of gentlemen, and provided with 
a good stock of sporting anecdote, and sporting information, they 
are generally very conversable, and discreet fellows, with whom 
a few hours can be spent, not only without tedium, but with 
some profit. 

John Horn, of Bristol, in Pennsylvania, is the best hand of 
these hardy aquatics I have ever encountered, and many a good 
day’s sport and fun have I enjoyed in his company, and under 
his guidance, on the broad and tranquil Delaware. 


J96 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


The time for beginning this sport depends on the depth of 
water on the particular flat whereon you are about to try your 
fortune,—the moment the rising tide will permit your boat to 
run over and through the reeds, you must commence ; and your 
sport will continue so long as the birds will continue to rise be¬ 
fore you, which will generally be until about the first quarter of 
the ebb ; but as the water falls, the Rail become less and less 
willing to take wing,—and in similar positions of the rising and 
falling tide, you shall flush twice as many when it is making. 

There is little more to be said, on the head of this sport, ex¬ 
cept to give a few hints as to accoutrements and equipage, on 
which, perhaps, next to the merits of your pole-man, the cele¬ 
rity of your shooting, and amount of your bag, will depend. 

The best position, as I have observed, for the shooter, is to 
stand,—and the best way to do this in the tottering and fragile 
skiffs, is to plant the feet firmly a little way apart, with the left 
somewhat advanced; not to brace your legs, or stiffen your 
knees, but rather to let the latter be a little bent, and to humor 
the motion of the boat, by swaying your body slightly in accord¬ 
ance with it, 

It does not much matter, however, except so far as you dread 
a ducking, reader mine, whether you chance to get overboard, 
or no, for the sport is pursued, invariably, in the shallowest of 
water, and drowning is out of the question, in the worst event. 

As the weather is generally warm, a light shooting-jacket, 
and straw hat, are as appropriate a dress as any. Your shortest 
and your lightest gun, is the best tool for the sport ; but a largish 
landing-net, on a long, light pole, will be found a very conve¬ 
nient appendage, and will save your pole-man much time in 
bringing your dead birds to bag. 

Next, as regards loading, to do which very quickly—at all 
times a great point, is here a sine qua non to good sport—use no 
shot-bag, and put the charger of your powder-horn down to its 
minimum of contents. Half the ordinary charge of powder, and 
three-quarters of an ounce of No. 9 shot, is an ample charge 
for Rail. But if you are looking out for flock shooting at Reed- 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


297 


biids at the same time, as is usual, it is well to carry a second 
heavier gun, with an ordinary load of No. 8. Sometimes Teal, 
or other wild duck, come across you, especially while going up 
or down the river to your ground, or returning from it; and for 
the chance of these, it is well to reserve a barrel, if not a gun, 
loaded with Eley’s cartridges of No. 3 or 4. 

For greater convenience of loading, as you are always sta¬ 
tionary in one place, and have abundant space for conveniences, 
you will find it well to have a square wooden box, with two 
compartments, one capable of containing eight or ten pounds of 
shot, and the other a quantum suff. of wadding ; a small tin scoop 
of the capacity named above, three-quarters of an ounce, lying 
on the shot, will save much trouble, and half the time in load¬ 
ing. This box, and your powder-horn, will lie on the bench or 
thwart before you,—your copper caps you will keep in your 
waistcoat-pocket; and by the precaution of being thus provided 
aforehand, you will get three shots for two with a rival, who 
lugs his flask out of his pocket, and charges with a belt or pouch 
after every shot. 

No farther rules are needed, except the old one, which can¬ 
not be too often repeated,—take your time, and be deliberate. 
Nay ! with the Rail you can afford to be slow, for he shall rise 
within ten feet of you, ninety-nine times of a hundred, and you 
shall miss him only by getting flurried, or by tumbling over¬ 
board. 

For the rest, though it really scarce deserves to be rated as a 
sport, or honored with a place among the nobler kinds of wood¬ 
craft, Rail shooting is a pretty pastime enough ; and when birds 
are abundant, and rise well, the rapid succession of shots, and 
the necessary rapidity of motion, creates an excitement, to which 
is often added the emulation of surpassing rival boats and gun¬ 
ners,—to which may again be superadded the stimulating ap¬ 
prehension of being peppered soundly by a stray charge of 
mustard-seed, together with the agreeable variations of vitupe¬ 
ration and recrimination, to which the said peppering may be 
expected to give rise. 


298 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


The Rail is, as I observed before, capital eating. He is to be 
cooked and served exactly as the Snipe, with no sauce or condi 
ment whatever, but his own gravy caught upon a slice of crisp 
buttered toast, and a sprinkle of salt. Like all water-birds, he 
is to be eaten fresh , the sooner after killing the better ! Twenty- 
four hours dead, he is not only ancient, but fish-like. Red wine 
is the liquor wherein he should be laid at rest within the inner 
man, as unquiet ghosts in a red sea! Peace to him! He shall 
sit lightly on your stomach, even if partaken at a rere supper. 

A few words, hereafter, concerning wild-fowl shooting in 
upland brooks, or stalking them on inland lakes, or pools, and 
I have finished my task, in so much as relates to Upland shooting. 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


299 


DUCK SHOOTING, ON INLAND WATERS. 


N the Eastern and Midland 
States, unless on the borders of 
the great lakes, this sport of late 
years can hardly be said to exist 
at all. The birds k are becoming 
rare and wild, and, although still 
shot in sufficient numbers by the 
local gunners, on the streams of 
New-Jersey, to supply the demand of the markets, they are not 
found numerous enough to justify the pursuit of the sportsman. 

Formerly on the drowned lands of Orange county, on the 
meadows of Chatham and Pine Brook, on the Passaic and its 
tributaries, before the modem system of draining and embank¬ 
ing, hundreds, nay ! thousands of acres were annually covered 
with shallow water, at the breaking up of winter, and the inun¬ 
dated flats were literally blackened with all the varieties of 
Duck which I have heretofore enumerated, affording rare sport 
to the gunner, and alluring gentlemen from the larger cities to 
follow them with the canoe ; in a day’s paddling of which, among 
the inundated groves, and over the floated meadows, it was no 
unusual event, nor regarded in any wise as extraordinary good 
fortune, to kill a hundred fowl and upward of the different va¬ 
rieties, all of which, however, are alike in one respect, that they 
are all delicious eating. I have myself been in the habit of con¬ 
sidering the Summer Duck as the most delicate and succulent 



300 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


food of the inland, as distinguished from the ocean Ducks; but 
this is, I believe, owing greatly, if not entirely, to its being the 
best fed of its genus in the regions wherein I have been wont 
to eat it; for I understand that on the great lakes, and in the 
Western country generally, the Blue-winged Teal is regarded 
as its superior in epicurean qualifications. 

All that kind of shooting is now at an end in this district of 
country j and although they still abound on the great lakes 
along the Canada frontier, and eastward in the British pro 
vinces, the vast extent of those inland seas which they there fre¬ 
quent, renders it impossible, or at least so difficult as to become 
irksome, to take them, except by lying at ambush on points over 
which they fly, and ori the woody margins of the forest streams 
and inlets, which they frequent for the purpose of feeding and 
roosting. In such localities, where streams, debouching into 
the great lakes, flow through submerged and swampy wood¬ 
lands, the Ducks of all kinds are wont to fly regularly land¬ 
ward, in large plumps, or small scattered parties, for an hour or 
two preceding sundown,—and a good shot well concealed in 
such a place, with a good double-gun, loaded with No. 4 up to 
BB, as may be the nature of his ground, and the species of his 
game, will frequently return from a single evening’s expedition, 
loaded with twenty or thirty couple of wild-fowl. 

For this sport, however, little or no advice is needed,—a good 
covert, a heavy gun, and a sufficient charge, are all that can be 
deemed requisite to success. The sport may, however, be ren¬ 
dered both more rapid and more exciting, by the introduction 
of the large Water Spaniel, well broken to fetch, to aid as a 
retriever. Every true sportsman knows how much zest and 
enjoyment is added to every kind of field sports, by the adapta¬ 
tion to it, and the observation during its continuance, of the 
instinct and sagacity of trained animals; and that of the water 
retriever is inferior to none. He must be trained to absolute 
muteness, and the most implicit obedience; he must never stir 
from the spot in which he is ordered by a quiet gesture of his 
master’s hand to crouch close—nay! he must not prick his ear, 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


301 


or wag his tail, lest the quick eye of the watchful Duck, or their 
almost infallible sense of hearing, detect either by sound or 
sight the impatient movement. Once ordered to recover the 
dead, or, what is worse, the cripples, neither the cold of 
the freezing lake, nor the rough billows of the stormy frith, 
must deter him. In his perfection he is, and needs must be, the 
most intelligent, and so far as endurance goes, the bravest of 
dogs ; and so far as the fowler’s particular sport unquestionably 
lacks that variety and excitement, both of incident and pursuit, 
which gives the great charm to every kind of shooting or hunt¬ 
ing, it will certainly be well to add to it the increased pleasure 
afforded by the use of the retriever. 

I used to suppose that the best species of dog for the Upland 
retriever, is the large Water Spaniel, as, undoubtedly, for sea- 
fowl shooting the small, sharpish-eared, St. John’s Newfound¬ 
land dog is preferable to all other races. In a work which has 
lately come before me, however, of which I think very highly, 
1 find the following observations, the correctness of which I be¬ 
lieve to be indisputable; and I little doubt that the sort of dog 
here described, would be of general utility to the sportsman. 
The book to which I allude is “ The Moor and the Loch,” by 
Colquhoun, of Luss, who, in the sphere of wild sports, to which 
he has paid attention, is not, I think, inferior to Col. Hawker, 
when mounted on his hobby of British sea-fowling. 

From this book, while on the present topic, I shall again 
quote; and, without farther apology or explanation, proceed to 
extract his views as to the dog most fitting as the Duck-shooter’s 
assistant. 

“ Next in importance to the gun,” says Mr. Colquhoun, “ is 
a proper retriever. The Newfoundland is not quite the thing: 
first, his black color is against him”—white, of course, is out of 
the question—“ brown is much to be preferred; then, I should 
wish my dog occasionally to assist me in this inland shooting, 
by beating rushes, or thick cover, up creeks, where you may 
often plant yourself in an open situation for a shot, and your dog 
put up the fowl, which are almost certain to fly down past you. 


302 FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 

If you accustomed a Newfoundland dog to this, he might, from 
his strength and vivacity, learn the trick of breaking away when 
you did not wish him. The best and most efficient kind of 
dog for this work, is a cross between a water-dog and large 
terrier; the terrier gives him nose, the water dog coolness and 
steadiness. I should say, that before you can procure one 
which, upon trial, may prove worth the great trouble of tho¬ 
roughly training, you may have to destroy half-a-dozen. You 
should begin your training when the dog is very young , and if 
you find out he is not turning out as you wish, seal his fate at 
onoe. The dog you want must be as mute as a badger, and 
cunning as a fox. He must be of a most docile and biddable 
disposition—the generality of this breed are so. They are also 
slow and heavy in their movements, and phlegmatic in their 
temper—great requisites; but when fowl are to be secured, 
you will find no want either of will or activity, on land or water.” 
Our Highland sportsman then proceeds, in allusion to the sub¬ 
ject of a wood-cut illustrating his work, which he states to be 
the best he ever saw, “ he never gives a whimper, if ever so 
keen, and obeys eveiy signal I make with my hand. He will 
watch my motions at a distance, when crawling after wild-fowl, 
ready to rush forward the moment I have fired; and never in 
one instance has he spoiled my shot. I may mention a proof 
of his sagacity. Having a couple of long shots across a pretty 
broad stream, I stopped a Mallard with each barrel, but both 
were only wounded. I sent him across for the birds; he at¬ 
tempted at first to bring them both, but one always struggled 
out of his mouth; he then laid down one, intending to bring the 
other; but whenever he attempted to cross to me, the bird left 
fluttered into the water; he immediately returned again, laid 
down the first on the shore, and recovered the other; the first 
now fluttered away, but he instantly secured it, and standing 
over them both, seemed to cogitate for a moment; then, although 
on any other occasion he never ruffles a feather, he deliberately 
killed one, brought over the other, and then returned for the 
dead bird.” 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


303 


After proceeding to give some further information with re¬ 
spect to accoutrements, among others of which he expatiates on 
the absolute necessity of a small pocket telescope as part of the 
wild-fowl shooter’s equipage, he gives an account in extenso 
of the best method to be adopted for getting within shot of wild¬ 
fowl, when seen feeding on, or within shot, of the shores of an 
inland loch or pond. These, as they are of the utmost value 
and interest in themselves, as there are thousands of localities 
exactly such as he describes, in every region of the United 
States, from the rock-girdled, pine-embosomed lakelets of Maine 
and the Eastern States, to the limestone pools of the Pennsylva¬ 
nian Alleghanies, to the limpid basins set in the oak openings 
of Michigan and Illinois, to the gleaming waters that lie unshel¬ 
tered from the sun’s brightest beams in the centre of boundless 
prairies, all of which, in their proper seasons are absolutely 
alive with wild-fowl of every description, and as to all of these, 
my author’s views are distinctly and directly applicable—I shall 
extract without alteration or abridgment; observing only, in 
addition to what I have already stated, that the species of fowl 
to which he has reference, are nearly in all respects identical 
with our own. 

“ Having now equipped our wild-fowl shooter, we will,” he 
says, “ again bring him to the shore. His first object should be 
to see his game without being seen himself, even if they are at 
too great a distance to show signs of alarm. To effect this he 
must creep cautiously forward to the first point that will com¬ 
mand a view of the shore for some distance ; then, taking out 
his glass, he must reconnoitre it by inches, noticing every tuft 
of grass or stone, to which wild-fowl asleep often bear so close 
a resemblance that, except to a very quick eye, assisted by a 
glass, the difference is not perceptible. If the loch be well 
frequented, he will most likely first discover a flock of divers, 
but must not be in a hurry to pocket his glass, until he has 
thoroughly inspected the shore, in case some more desirable 
fowl may be feeding or asleep upon it. I will suppose that he 
sees some objects that may be wild-fowl. Let him then imme* 
vol. 1. 22 


304 


FRANK FORESTER’S FTELD SPORTS. 


diately direct his glass to the very margin of the loch, to see if 
anything is moving there; should he find it so, he may conclude 
that it is a flock of either Ducks,* Widgeon,f or Teal; those 
first perceived resting on the shore, and the others feeding at 
the water’s edge, of course not nearly so conspicuous.f If there 
is no motion at the margin of the loch, he must keep his glass 
fixed, and narrowly watch for some time, when, if what arrest¬ 
ed his attention he wild-fowl asleep, they will, in all probability, 
betray themselves by raising a head or flapping a wing. 

C( He must now take one or two large marks, that he will be 
sure to know again; and also another, about two or three hun¬ 
dred yards, immediately above, farther inland. Having done 
this, let him take a very wide circle and come round upon his 
inland mark. He must now walk as if treading upon glass : 
the least rustle of a bough, or crack of a piece of rotten wood 
under his feet, may spoil all, especially if the weather be calm. 
Having got to about one hundred yards from where he suppo¬ 
ses the birds to be, he will tell his retriever to lie down; the 
dog, if well trained, will at once do so, and never move. His 
master will then crawl forward, until he gets the advantage of a 
bush or tuft of reeds, and then raise his head by inches to look 
through it for his other marks. Having seen them, he has got 
an idea where the birds are, and will, with the utmost caution, 


* When the word “ Duck” is used in English works without qualification, the 
Mallard and Duck known, in this country generally, as the “ Green-head,” are 
intended. 

t The English Widgeon differs essentially from the American bird, but like 
it, is rather a shore bird than an inland fowl, though it is often shot up the 
country. 

t “ Duck-shooting on rivers and streams is generally unsatisfactory, there are 
so many turnings and windings which prevent you from seeing the fowl until 
they are close at hand, also so many tiny bays and creeks, where they conceal 
themselves beyond the possibility of detection, until the whirr of their wings and 
the croak of the Mallard betray their hiding-place. Unless the river be large 
and broad, even the most expert wild-fowl shooter must expect few heavy 
sitting shots, and content himself with the greater number being distant flying 
ones.” 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


305 


endeavor to catch sight of them. I will suppose him fortunate 
enough to do so, and that they are perfectly unconscious of his 
near approach. He must lower his head in the same cautious 
manner, and look for some refuge at a fair distance from the 
birds, through which he may fire the deadly sitting shot. After 
crawling serpent-like to this, he w ill again raise his head by 
hair-breadths, and peeping through the bush or tuft, select the 
greatest number of birds in line; then drawing back a little, in 
order that his gun may be just clear of the bush for the second 
barrel, after having fired the first through it, will take sure aim 
at his selected victims. Should he unfortunately not find an 
opening to fire through, the only other alternative is by almost 
imperceptible degrees to raise his gun to the right of the bush, 
and close to it; but in doing this the birds are much more likely 
to see him and take wing. Never fire over the bush, as you 
are almost certain to be perceived whenever you raise your 
head ; more good shots are lost to an experienced hand by a 
rapid jerk, not keeping a sufficient watch for stragglers, and 
over-anxiety to fire, than by any other way. Having succeeded 
in getting the sitting shot, the fowl, especially if they have not 
seen from whence it comes, will rise perpendicularly in the air, 
and you are not unlikely to have a chance of knocking down a 
couple more with your second barrel; but if they rise wide, 
you must select the finest old Mallard among them, or whatever 
euits your fancy. Directly upon hearing the report, your 
retriever will rush to your assistance, and having secured your 
cripples, you will re-load, and taking out your glass, reconnoitre 
again; for though Ducks, Widgeon, &c., would fly out upon 
the loch at the report of your gun, yet the diver tribe,* if there 
are only one or two together, are perhaps more likely to be 
under water than above when you fire; but more of them 
anon. 

* The divers most common to us are the BufFel-headed Duck, or Butter- 
Ball ; and the two varieties of Merganser, more commonly known as SheU 
drakes —to which fowl, it does not, in truth, offer even a remote resemblance 
The true Sheldrake Anas Tadorna, being a perfect Duck, and not a diver. 


306 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


“ Another invariable rule in crawling upon Ducks is always, 
if possible, to get to the leeward of them for although I am 
firmly of opinion that they do not wind you like deer, as some 
suppose, yet their hearing is most acute. I have seen instances 
of this that I could hardly otherwise have credited. One day I 
got within about sixty yards of three Ducks asleep upon the 
shore; the wind was blowing very strong, direct from me to 
them, a thick hedge forming my ambuscade. The ground was 
quite bare beyond this hedge, so I was obliged to take the dis¬ 
tant shot through it: in making the attempt, I rustled one of 
the twigs—up went three heads to the full stretch, but when I 
had remained quiet for about five minutes, they again placed 
their bills under their wings; upon a second trial, the slight 
noise was unfortunately repeated : again the birds raised their 
heads ; but this time they were much longer upon the stretch, 
and seemed more uneasy. Nothing now remained but to try 
again; my utmost caution, however, was unavailing, the birds 
rose like rockets. I never hesitate concealing myself to wind¬ 
ward of the spot, where I expect Ducks to pitch, feeling confi¬ 
dent that, unless I move, they will not find me out. I have 
often had them swimming within twenty-five yards of me, when 

* “ If you have also a bright sun at your back, and in their eyes, your advan¬ 
tage is great; but should the sun and wind favor opposite directions, let the 
nature of the ground decide your advance. 

“ I was last winter shooting wild-fowl with a gamekeeper who firmly held the 
common notion of their keen noses. We saw a flock of about twenty pitched 
upon a long point, and no possibility of approaching them except directly to 
windward. “ Now, sir,” says the keeper, “ if you’ll stalk these Ducks so as to 
get a good shot, I’ll never care for their noses again !” They had the full 
benefit of the wind as it blew pretty strong, but there was some soft snow on 
the ground, which I knew would prevent their hearing; so I took him at his 
word, killed three with my first barrel, and had they not been intercepted by 
the trees and bushes, would have knocked down at least one more with my 
second. The keeper has said ever since that their noses are not worth a straw: 
my decided advice, however, is not to stalk wild-fowl to windward, if it can be 
avoided; for should the snow be at all crisp with frost, or if there are many 
twigs and bushes to crawl through, their noses become acute enough !.!” 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


307 


I was waiting for three or four in line, the wind blowing direct 
from me to them, without perceiving by any signs their con¬ 
sciousness of an enemy’s vicinity.* 

“ When the weather is very hard, and Ducks are driven to 
the springy drains, a simple way of getting fair shots, but seldom 
practised, is, to make your man keep close to the drain, and 
take your own place fifteen yards from it, and about forty in 
advance of him. The Ducks will then rise nearly opposite to 
you. To walk along the drain is not a very good plan, as they 
will generally rise either out of distance or very long shots: 
and, if you keep a little way off, they may not rise at all f 
When the loch is low, the sportsman may often get a capital 
shot at Ducks, the first warm sunny days in March,| as they 
collect on the grassy places at the margin to feed upon the 
insects brought into life by the genial heat. 

“ But to return to our wild-fowl shooter, whom we left glass 
in hand looking out for divers. He sees a couple plying their 
vocation fifteen or twenty yards from the shore, about half a 
quarter of a mile from where he stands. He selects his vantage 

* “ Perhaps the sportsman may ask what it signifies whether wild-fowl are 
aware of your approach by hearing or winding? My answer is, that although 
it is of little consequence when crawling upon Ducks, yet when lying concealed, 
expecting them to pitch, it is a considerable advantage to know that you will 
not be detected by their sense of smell; otherwise the best refuge for a shot 
must often be abandoned for a much worse.” 

t This plan will be found to answer admirably in this country, not when the 
weather is very hard, at which times the drains and small streams are frozen 
hard, but at all seasons when wild-fowl of any kind are marked down into any 
brook, stream or water-course whatever. If the stream be very tortuous, the 
shooter should walk parallel to it, just far enough distant not to strike any of its 
courses, but keeping as nearly as possible a perfectly direct course. The beater 
should follow every curve accurately. I have have had sport thus with Wood- 
duck, in many districts of the United States ; and once—the best day’s inland 
fowl-shooting, I ever had—killed sixteen young birds, and two fine Drakes in a 
single morning. 

t For March we must substitute, as regards American shooting, the corres¬ 
ponding season, according to the latitude. The period he means is the first 
breaking up of winter, and the commencement of mild weather. 


308 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


ground as near as possible, for a last look before commencing 
his attack. Having gained this, he makes his dog lie down, and 
peeps cautiously until he sees the birds—waits till they both 
dive together, then rushing forward whilst they are under 
water, again conceals himself, expecting their re-appearance. 
The great difficulty is always to keep in view the exact spot 
where the birds come up : once lose sight of it, your progress 
is stopped, and, in recovering your advantage, the birds are 
almost certain to see you and fly. When within one race Ox 
the divers, cock both barrels, and as soon as they together disap¬ 
pear, rush to the nearest point on the shore for a shot. If the 
day be calm, the rising bubbles will show where they are; you 
can then clap your gun to your shoulder, ready to fire. Always 
in such cases, shoot on wing, and be sure to fire well forward: 
should a diver only be winged, it is useless to tire your re¬ 
triever in pursuit; but if he is at all struck about the legs also, 
a good dog should be able to secure him. 

“ So much for the small Morillon.* The Golden-eyet is a still 
more artful bird, and requires more caution. If, without seeing 
an enemy, he is at all alarmed while diving near the shore, he 
will probably swim out to a considerable distance; reconnoi- 
tering all the time, and making a noise something like a single 
note of the hurdy-gurdy. You may perhaps expect his return, 
and wait for him; but although he may remain about the same 
place, making these calls, and apparently careless, he is all the 
time very suspicious; and I only once or twice, in my whole 
experience, knew him to return to the spot where he was first 
discovered. Should he get sight of you, there is no hope, even 
if he does not take wing, which he most likely will. The little 
Morillon may return if you think him worth waiting for; but 
he is so hard and coarse on the table, that it would be paying 
him too great a compliment. The Golden-eye, on the contrary, 
is a great delicacy—a sufficient proof, I think, were there no 

* The small Morillon is a bird very closely resembling our Buffel-headed 
Duck, though not identical with it. 

t The Golden-eye of England is the same as our own. Anas Clangula. 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


309 


other, that Morillons are not young Golden-eyes, as many sup¬ 
pose. This supposition, I hare little doubt, arises from the 
color of the female Golden-eye being pretty much like that of 
the Mormon. The shape, however, is different, and the size of 
the female Golden-eye nearly equal to that of the male. I have 
shot them, right and left when diving together, the female being 
the most wary of the two. The Morillon may be in the same 
flock, as different kinds of divers often are; but there is not 
half the caution required to get a shot at him, and, when com¬ 
pared, he is much rounder in shape and one-third smaller in 
size. It may be said, ‘ and why should not this be the young 
of the same species V I answer, ‘ that the young males of all 
the Duck tribe that breed in this country, from the Mallard to 
the Teal, gain their bright feathers the first moulting, after 
which the young males are at least equal in size to the females; 
but my chief reason I have already given, if the Morillon is the 
young bird, why should he reverse the usual order of things, 
and be less tender and delicate than his parents'?’ 

“ When several are diving together, you must get as near as 
possible without alarming them ; and, selecting a couple who 
dive at the same moment, hoot away the others, who will be 
far out of reach before their companions come up. They will 
probably never miss them until they have taken two or three 
dives, thus giving you an opportunity of getting the shot; of 
which you would have had a much worse chance while they 
were together. 

“ In recommending this, be it observed, I am supposing the 
ground of difficult access ; when favorable, even a novice should 
be able to get within a run of any number of fowl, without 
being seen by the most wary of the flock, and can then make 
his selection. For my own part, I hardly ever adopt this plan, 
out where the ground is bare and open, an unpractised wild¬ 
fowl shooter would stand no chance otherwise. 

“ When the flock is large, it always puzzles a beginner to 
ascertain the length of time they are under water, in order to 
know what time he may safely allow for his last run, which in 


310 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


such a case must generally be a long one. The fowl are conti¬ 
nually coming up and disappearing again, which confuses him, 
and unless he knows the depth of the water , the only way to find 
out how long they are under, is to watch the most marked or 
detached of the flock, and then choose his devoted pair. If the 
water is very shallow , those below are sure to perceive the flurry 
made by their friends at the top, as soon as you commence 
your last run, and instantly join them in their retreat. In such 
cases it is always best to try for a distant sitting shot, from the 
nearest refuge you can safely reach, among as many as you can 
get in line. But by attempting this, there is always a risk of 
losing the chance altogether, and it should never be resorted to 
except under such circumstances, or with Dun-birds* who keep 
more close together, and thus present a better opportunity for 
a heavy sitting shot than any other divers. 

“ Of all wild-fowl, a flock of Dun-birds is the most agreea¬ 
ble to the sportsman’s eye. They are the most stupidf of all 
the diver race. I have even seen them, after having been 
driven from their feeding ground, return in the face of the 
shooter, who had only lain down without any covering or con¬ 
cealment whatever; they have begun diving again within thirty 
yards, and of course given him a capital shot. I never wish for 
assistance in manoeuvring any other kind of water-fowl, but 
these may be herded like sheep ; and, if feeding on one side of 

* The Dun-bird, or Pochard of England, is the same as our Red-head, FulU 
gula Ferina, which is with us a sea Duck, only frequenting the bays and 
estuaries of large rivers ; although, like the Canvass-back, it is found westward 
far inland, on the upper waters of the Ohio, Mississippi, and Missouri. 

t This agrees well with what we know of the facility with which they are 
toled, as it is called, by the most simple artifice, even the waving of a hand¬ 
kerchief, into gun-shot, on the waters of the Chesapeake Bay. I do not see 
but that this hint may be found available in Bay-shooting. I know that Brant 
Geese may be driven by a man rowing, at such a distance from them as not to 
alarm them into taking wing, up to the very muzzle of a concealed sportsman’s 
gun. This is, I think, a recently discovered habit of the Brant; but is now 
regularly acted upon, on the south side of Long Island. On the first opportu¬ 
nity I will certainly try it with Red-heads. 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


311 


a b a y> you have only to conceal yourself at the other, and send 
your man round to where they are diving. They will most 
likely come straight towards you, and, again beginning to feed, 
will probably every five or ten minutes draw all together with 
their heads up. Now is your time to fire, if you have the good 
fortune to be within shot; but should you prefer two birds in 
the hand to waiting for their knitting together, you may have a 
capital right and left when they come up from diving: I how¬ 
ever, should be loath to lose the opportunity of the sitting shot. 

“ There are many other divers that frequent our lochs, such as 
the tufted* and scaupf Ducks, &c., but they may all be ap¬ 
proached in the same way as the Golden-eye and the Morillon; 
none are so shy as the former.! Those that feed on fish, such 

* The Ring-necked Duck of America. Fuligula Rujitorques. 

t The Scaup-duck—in the West, Flocking Fowl—on the Chesapeake, 
Black-head—commonly Blue-bill, or Broad-bill, Fuligula Marila. All these 
are properly Sea Ducks; but all are found to the Westward, as in Great Bri¬ 
tain, more or less inland. 

t Last winter I had a good opportunity of contrasting the artful and suspi¬ 
cious nature of the Golden-eye with that of the more confiding Morillon. When 
shooting wild-fowl on the banks of the Teith, I discovered, with my glass, a 
Golden-eye feeding at the top of a long creek, and a couple of Morillons at the 
bottom where it joined the river. As they were at some distance from each 
other, it was impossible to keep an eye upon both. So, knowing that if the 
Golden-eye got a glimpse of me, he would not stay to take another, I was ob¬ 
liged to trust to the simplicity of the more social Morillons. I got within a fair 
distance for my last run, when the Morillons, who had caught a transient glance 
at my manoeuvres, paid the compliment of giving me their undivided attention; 
but, as they did not leave the ground, nor show any other sign of alarm, I was 
congratulating myself that all was safe. The moment, however, that the Gol¬ 
den-eye came up from the dive, he perceived that the Morillons were resting on 
their oars, and instantly was on his guard. It was most curious to see the cun¬ 
ning and tact of the creature, which I had every advantage for observing, as I 
was well concealed. He kept cruising about, with outstretched neck, peering 
first on one side of the creek, then on the other, always selecting the best points 
of sight to halt, and make his observations. Nor would he recommence his re 
past until the Morillons had set him the example. And, had I not known his 
usual precaution of making the first dive or two, after being scared, very short, 
he might even then have escaped.” 


312 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


as the Goosander, Speckled Diver, Sheldrake, &c., require ra¬ 
ther different tactics. To get a shot at any of these, you must 
watch which way they are feeding, and, taking your station 
somewhat in advance, wait until they pass you; they will not 
keep you long, as they are very rapid in their movements. Take 
care that the water is pretty deep where you place yourself, or 
they may dive at too great a distance from the shore for a shot ; 
but, after all, they are good for nothing but to be stuffed for a 
collection. 

“ The only other bird that requires a separate notice is the 
mighty Hooper,* monarch of the flood. To get a shot at the 
"Wild Swan is the great object of the sportsman’s desire: he is 
not naturally so shy a bird as the Wild-duck, but still his long 
neck, and acute sense of hearing, render great caution neces¬ 
sary. If, as often happens, he is feeding along the shore, you 
have only to plant yourself in an advantageous situation a good 
way a-head, and it will not be long before he makes his appear¬ 
ance ; but if he is feeding at the mouth of some brook or stream, 
you must crawl in the same way as when after WUd-ducks. 
Should you get within a distant shot of a Hoopei, and are not 
close to the water side, instead of firing from where you are, 
rush down to the edge of the loch, and before the Swan can 
take wing, you will have gained ten yards upon him. When 
the thaw begins after very hard weather, they are almost sure 
to be feeding at the mouths of any mountain bums that run into 
the loch. Should you see Hoopers feeding greedily, nearly out 
of range of your gun, in place of taking the random shot, try to 
prevent their being disturbed, and return at dusk of evening, or 
grey of morning, when they will most likely have come pretty 
close to the shore, especially if any little rivulets run into the 
loch near : this rule applies to most water-fowl. If a Swan be 

* This is a different bird from the Swan of the Chesapeake, Cycnus Amen - 
canus, though closely cognate. Our bird never, I fancy, betakes himself to 
lakes, or the like, within the limits of the United States, though he is said to do 
60 in the far West, beyond the Mississippi and Rocky Mountains, 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


313 


alarmed by an enemy on shore, his wont is not to fly, hut to 
swim majestically away. 

“ Widgeon* and Teal are approached in the same way as 
Wild-ducks, only the Widgeon are less shy than the Ducks, and 
the Teal than the Widgeon. You may sometimes, in calm 
weather, see Widgeon in a large flock purring and whistling a 
couple of hundred yards from the shore; you need give your¬ 
self no trouble about them, as they will probably not leave their 
resting-place until they feed in the evening. Always try to get 
a heavy shot at Widgeon, which, with a little patience, you may 
generally accomplish. Teal are usually in small flocks; so 
that, if you can get two or three in line, you had better fire, for 
fear of losing the sitting chance altogether. I once killed six 
at a shot; but, except when they collect in small ponds and 
drains about the loch-side, so good an opportunity seldom oc¬ 
curs. I have occasionally seen Shovellers on our lochs; but 
only in the hardest winters. They resemble Wild-ducks in their 
habits : the only one I ever shot was among a flock of Ducks. 

“ Good sport need never be expected when the loch is large, 
as many of the fowl swim up creeks, and among the morasses in 
shore, where it is difficult even to get a flying shot; while those 
that remain on the margin of the loch are so concealed by the 
bushes, &c., that it is quite impossible to see them. The lower 
the loch the better; at all events, the shore should be clearly 
defined. At such times wild-fowl have always favorite haunts 
for feeding and resting. 

“ There is a common saying, that specimens of all the diffe- 
lent kinds of water fowl which frequent the loch in winter, pre¬ 
sent themselves during the harvest moon. This is erroneous ; 
for even the Morillon, earliest of the diver tribe, seldom appears 
so soon, and the Tufted and Scaup Ducks, Dun-birds, &c., never 

* A different bird, though not unlike our Widgeon, Anas Americana , the 
Bald-pate. It is worthy of notice, that the Widgeon of the Chesapeake is con¬ 
sidered the shyest and most difficult to tole, of all the Pucks which f r °.qn©nt 
hose waters. 


314 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


until the winter sets in.* Multitudes of Wild-ducks do como 
down from the moors, during harvest, to feed upon the corn¬ 
fields on the banks of some of the larger lochs, and, when the 
stubble becomes bare, return to the moor-lochs until these are 
frozen over, which again drives them back. This is the only 
foundation for the vulgar error. A day or two is generally 
sufficient to freeze over these little lochs, and their occupants 
then come down to the larger ones, the greater parts of which 
remain open long after the storm has set in. Now is the time 
for the wild-fowl shooter : if the ground is covered with snow, 
so much the better. The fowl are then in groups close to the 
shore, pinched with cold and hunger, seeking shelter and a 
scanty morsel. If at the same time it is windy, with drifts of 
snow, no weather can be more propitious for Ducks, Widgeon, 
Teal, and all wild-fowl that feed at the margin. When the 
snow is falling thick and fast, a capital sitting shot may some¬ 
times be obtained, though the ground be so bare as to offer no 
concealment. In most cases, however, it is best not to take the 
cover off your gun till the shower moderates a little, as snow is 
so apt to penetrate, and make it miss fire. 

“ If the weather be open, the higher the wind the better, as 
it drives to the shore whatever fowl are upon the loch, although 
until the frost sets in they will be comparatively few. 

“ The most auspicious weather for divers is one of those frosty 
days, accompanied by mist, when the loch is perfectly calm, and 
looks like a mirror dimmed by one’s breath. You may then 
hear their plash in the water—sometimes even before they can 
be seen—and, if care is taken to make no rustling among the 
bushes, when they are above the water, you have every pros- 

* These observations on the seasons of these birds in Great Britain, might, 
perhaps, have been omitted ; but I consider the whole of this extract so very 
able and correct, that, taking into consideration the vast extent and variety of 
latitude covered by the shooting grounds of America, in some of which the cli¬ 
mate closely resembles that of England, I have not been able to prevail on my¬ 
self to omit it ; as I doubt not there are places at which the cap will be found 
to fit, and the hints of consequenco to be useful. 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


315 


pect of a good chance. The smoothness of the surface and the 
mist makes each bird appear twice as large as it is, which ena¬ 
bles you much more easily to catch sight of them coming up 
from the dive. The mist is also an excellent shroud, if the ground 
is open, without a bush or tuft of reeds to hide behind, when 
the birds are above water. 

“ The wild-fowl shooter must never forget, that true proof of 
his skill consists in obtaining sitting shots, and stopping a num- 
bei of fowl at one discharge; and, unless with divers, must not 
think of a flying right and left. 

“ As an instance of what may be done by patience and cau¬ 
tion, I may conclude this paper by mentioning, that the game- 
keeper of a relation, having seen a flock of Ducks pitched upon 
the shore, and no way of getting near them but over a bare 
field, crawled flat upon his face a distance of three hundred 
yards, pushing his gun before him, not daring even to raise his 
head, and at last got within such fair distance, that he stopped 
four with his first barrel, and one with the other, securing them 
all. His gun was only a small fowling-piece. I should add 
that he had been trained to deer-stalking, under his father, from 
a boy.” 

It may, perhaps, be thought worthy of remark, that this is the 
single quotation which I shall offer to my readers from any 
English author, as regards the mode of beating for, pursuing, 
or killing any kind of game. When I come to treat of gun¬ 
nery, the breeds, breaking, diseases, and treatment of dogs, and 
the like topics, it is on British sporting authors especially, almost 
exclusively, that I shall rely; but, in fact, the game of America 
is so different, the places and modes of taking it so much at va¬ 
riance, and the habits of the few animals of chase, which are 
nearly allied in the two countries, are so completely distinct 
from those of England, that the precepts of the best English 
sporting writers are useless here. Of Col. Hawker’s great 
work, above half—which half was very properly rejected by its 
able American editor—relates to fowl shooting, and fowling 


316 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


apparatus, as practiced and adopted on the coast of England, 
all which would be of no more use to a sportsman here, than a 
treatise on archery of the fourteenth century to a Kentucky 
rifleman. 

The above extracts are practical, and applicable to any and 
every country, and cannot fail to be found generally useful. 

The only other observations to be made on Upland fowl 
shooting, relate to the quality of gun most adapted to the sport, 
and the size of shot, grain of powder, and the like, which are, 
of course, all more or less different from those used in Upland 
shooting for ordinary game. 

To a person living in a country where this sport can be rea¬ 
dily and often pursued, and who is an amateur in it, a gun espe¬ 
cially made for the purpose is indispensable. It must be a 
double-barrel, and as heavy as can conveniently be carried; 
the more metal, the less recoil, and the greater force of propul¬ 
sion ; extreme length is utterly useless—nay, detrimental!—for 
a gun of four feet barrel must either be unmanageably pon¬ 
derous, or must be so light at the breech as to become top-heavy. 
All that is requisite is a gun that will throw from two to three 
ounces of No. 3 or 4 shot, very strong, and very regularly dis¬ 
tributed. For any ordinary purpose, two ounces of shot is suffi¬ 
cient; and in my opinion the gun which will do that as effec¬ 
tively as any that can be made, is one of 12-guage, 36 inches 
barrel, and 9 to 10 lbs. weight. A gun of this kind can be fur¬ 
nished by Mr. Mullin, of Barclay street, New-York, next door 
to the “ Spirit of the Times” office, for a hundred dollars, of ex¬ 
cellent quality; and I only give an opinion on which I have 
acted, and not been disappointed, when I say that I would ra¬ 
ther have a gun of his workmanship made to my order, for any 
price not exceeding one hundred and fifty dollars, than any im¬ 
ported gun at the same rate. 

The high qualities of English guns are not to be surpassed, 
but cannot be furnished by any first-rate maker short of—appur¬ 
tenances included—<£56. This, with 30 per ct. ad valorem duty 
added, shipping charges, &c., will amount to a very large price. 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


317 


Nevertheless, I say, if any man be disposed to go to the trouble 
of importing an English gun at all, let him import a first-rate 
and first price London article. I never saw a Birmingham gun 
I would have cared to shoot with; and I do not consider that 
Westley Richards’ merits at all equal his reputation. I consider 
Purdey, Lancaster, and Moore and Gray, the first three makers 
of the day ; and were I offered the gift of a gun, with the choice 
of the maker, I should name the latter house as my makers. 

No. 4 shot I consider quite large enough for any kind of 
fowl, unless Canada Geese, or Wild Swans; but I would al¬ 
ways use a green Eley’s cartridge in one barrel. The best 
powder, beyond all question or comparison, for fowling, and es¬ 
pecially sea shooting, is what is called Hawker’s Ducking Po wder, 
prepared by Curtis and Harvey, as the diamond grain of the 
same house is by all odds the quickest, strongest, and cleanest 
powder in the world. The grain of the ducking powder is ex¬ 
tremely coarse—coarser than cannon powder—and very hard ; 
it is not, therefore, liable to become damp or liquefied, when 
exposed to a saline atmosphere. Notwithstanding the large 
size of its grain, it is readily ignited even in a small gun, by one 
of Starkey’s central fire waterproof caps. One of these, for an 
experiment, I kept forty-eight hours in a tumbler full of water, 
and it exploded quickly and cleanly. There is nothing like 
them,—but, like all good things, they are dear. For the rest, a 
person who cares to keep but one gun, will find himself able to 
do good work with a general shooting piece of 14-guage, 32 
inches barrel, and 8 lbs. weight, even at fowl, if he uses No. 4, 
Eley’s wire cartridges. Verbum sap. And so adieu to Upland 
shooting. 


318 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


SPORTING DOGS 


S without the ai i of *vell bred 
and well broke logf> no game 
can be either successfully or sci- 
entificallly pursued, and as in the 
management of this noble ani¬ 
mal both in the kennel and the 
field consists, perhaps, the great¬ 
er part of the true science of 
woodcraft, no work on field 
sports can be esteemed in any¬ 
wise complete, which does not treat of their breeds, character¬ 
istics and general treatment; whether in health, in sickness, in 
the house, or in the field. This portion of my subject, I there¬ 
fore, now approach, without farther observation than this, that 
neither a complete history of canine pathology, nor a full 
treatise on dog-breaking must be looked for within the limits of 
such a book as this, and that a few general directions and hints 
only can be afforded on a topic which has itself occupied many 
volumes, devoted to it entirely by writers of competent talent 
and experience. 

Two ©f these, more especially, should be found in every 
sportsman’s library, I mean Youatt on the Dog, and Blaine’s 
Canine Pathology. Of the first of these works a handsome 
edition has been recently published by Messrs. Lea & Blan- 





UPLAND SHOOTING. 


319 


chard of Philadelphia, under the editorial supervision of E. 
J. Lewis, M. D., of that city, a gentleman who has perform¬ 
ed his part with creditable accuracy, diligence and research; 
and, whose fondness for the animal in question, and his long 
study of its peculiarities, entitle his observations to respectful 
attention; although to some of his views, especially in regard to 
breeding and races, I must enter my dissent. The latter book 
has never, I believe, been republished in America, but. the 
English edition is not costly, and may be obtained from any 
considerable bookseller in the United States. With these two 
guides and text-books in his possession the sportsman will be 
little at a loss in regard either to the diagnosis or treatment of 
diseases, which he must perforce attend to personally in this 
country, as veterinary surgeons are neither numerous nor 
skilful, generally speaking, even in the larger cities, while in 
the country districts they are not; and even where they are, 
canine pathology is little understood or professed by them. 

To proceed at once then in medias res , the races of sporting 
dogs used in upland shooting, are three in number, the Setter, 
the Pointer and the Spaniel, and of each race several varieties 
are in use, all being of the division known as sagaces, being 
distinguished by their qualities of instinct and powers of scent¬ 
ing, in contradistinction to speed or ferocity. 

Of these the best known, and most generally used, and 1 
must think with justice, as superior in beauty, endurance and 
aptitude to our climate and style of shooting, is 


THE SETTER* 

The origin of this beautiful and admirable species is beyond 
a doubt, the large land Spaniel improved by judicious breeding 
to his peculiar size and beauty, and taught, until teaching has 
become second habit, and the result of training grown into an 
hereditary instinct, to mark his game by setting or crouching, 
instead of flushing it on the instant. 
vol. i. 23 


320 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SrORTS 


A great deal of absurd nonsense has been written about the 
Dreed and race of the Setter, from the mass of which I shall select 
the following passage for two reasons, first that it reaches the 
very climax of possible stupidity, and second, that it is from the 
pen of one who should know better, at least to merit the reputa¬ 
tion he has acquired; being no other than the person who has 
gained very considerable celebrity as the author of “ The Sports¬ 
man in France,” “ The Sportsman in Ireland and Scotland,” 
and “ The Sportsman in Canada.” 

After stating that the Setter is his favorite dog in the field, 
and decidedly the most useful for general shooting in France,” 
Mr. Tolfrey actually proceeds to give the following receipt for 
making a breed of Setters, forgetful, apparently, that it is 
very unnecessary to set about making, what nature has already 
made in perfection to our hand, and quite ignorant, it should 
seem, that it is impossible to make a pure strain from any com¬ 
bination of crosses. There is no doubt whatever that the true 
Setter is a pure strain of unmixed Spaniel blood, the only 
improvement produced in the breed arising from its judicious 
cultivation, by the selection of the largest, healthiest and hand¬ 
somest individuals of both sexes from which to rear a progeny, 
and by the careful development of their qualities, by scientific 
feeding, exercising, and bringing into condition. The following 
receipt may therefore make a useful mongrel, but can no more 
make a Setter, than crossing a Quagga, a Zebra and a Cana¬ 
dian pony—all varieties of the horse breed—can make a 
thorough-bred. 

“ The preliminary step,” he says, “is to put a fine bred and 
unexceptionable Pointer bitch to a noted Foxhound; you will 
then have laid the foundation of three essential qualities, speed, 
nose and courage. Docility and sagacity are also requisites, 
and to obtain them cross the offspring with the small and 
slender race of Newfoundland dog. The produce will be as 
near perfection as possible; they will take to the water, re¬ 
trieve, and for general shooting will be found the very best and 
most useful animal the sportsman can desire.” 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


321 


I quote the above as I have said, merely to caution the 
sportsman against giving the least heed to any such stuff, and 
to warn him to avoid any crossing or intermixture of breeds as 
he would the plague. If he prefer the Pointer, let him stick 
to Pointer, but let it be a Pointer pure. If Setter, let him do 
the same. Any mixture, even of those two kindred bloods is 
in nine cases out of ten, disadvantageous, and instead of com¬ 
bining the peculiar excellencies, the produce is very apt to 
unite the worst qualities of the several strains, superadded to a 
sullenness and badness of temper, which is in some sort, the 
characteristic of all mules. 

Mr. Lewis is under the impression, as I gather from his 
comments on Youatt, that it is the fashion in England, to 
intermix Setter and Pointer blood, by way of improving the 
former, and that the majority of English Setters has been so 
intermingled intentionally, with the idea that the qualities of 
the animal are improved thereby. 

This idea is utterly erroneous; for, although doubtless much 
Setter blood has been thus vitiated, no persons priding them¬ 
selves on their kennels, or fanciful, not to say scientific, about 
their breeds of dogs, would admit one of these mongrels into 
their establishment, much less breed from him. Such an inter¬ 
mixture i3 regarded as decidedly a taint, as a strain of cock-tail 
blood in the pedigree of a thorough-bred horse. And very 
many noblemen and gentlemen pay as much attention to their 
breeding kennels, and their peculiar and private strains of 
Pointers and Setters, as others do to the breeding and rearing 
of the race horse. 

The Pointer is a made dog, that is to say, he is not of an 
original or pure breed, traceable to any one variety, nor has he 
been known to the sporting world for any considerable length 
of tim8. The Spaniel is first mentioned, and that in his 
improved form as a Setter , i. e. taught to couch, in a MS. work 
written by the grand huntsman to Edward the Second, so long 
ago as A. D. 1307, whereas the Pointer was not known in the 
sixteenth century, and probably has not existed in his present 


322 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


improved form, for much above a hundred years. He was 
known originally as the Spanish Pointer, and was probably first 
reared in that country, to which his peculiar capacity for endu¬ 
ring heat and the want of water singularly adapts him. 

It appears probable that he is an improved or altered form 
of the Foxhound, bred and trained to stand instead of chasing 
his game, and to repress his cry; and it is generally supposed 
that this was effected and his present type obtained by crossing 
the Foxhound with the Spaniel. I cannot say that I believe 
this to be the case, as I cannot see by what analogy the crossing 
a feather-sterned dog, such as the Hound, with one entirely rough 
and silky-haired, like the Spaniel, should result in the produc¬ 
tion of a race, the characteristic of which is the closest and most 
satin-like of coats, and the whip-like tail of a rat. I am inclined 
myself to believe that the original stock is from the Foxhound, 
and smooth-haired Danish or Pomeranian dog, crossed perhaps 
again with Spaniel, but so slightly as to show few of its charac¬ 
teristic points. The Pointer being, as I have said, originally a 
cross-bred dog, sportsmen continued to mix his blood occasi¬ 
onally to obtain different qualities, to a late period, and even now 
Foxhound blood is occasionally added, in order to give dash 
and courage. I should not be surprised to find that a cross of 
the Bull-dog had been introduced, as it was advantageously 
into the Greyhound by Lord Orford, though I have found no 
mention of the fact—but the type of the animal is now firmly 
established, and the finest breed reproduces itself in its finest 
strain, if purely bred. 

The cross breeding, which I have named, has never been 
allowed with regard to the Setter, however, except by some 
ignorant or prejudiced keeper, or some person desirous of pre¬ 
serving, by this unnatural union, some qualities of a favorite 
individual of either strain. In any well-kept kennels a chance 
litter from a Setter bitch by a Pointer dog, or vice versa , would 
undoubtedly be condemned to the horse-pond, and with Irish 
sportsmen, who are very choice of their Setters, a cross eve* 
with the English Setter would be regarded as a blemish. 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


323 


The Setter is too well known in this country to require a 
particular description, it may be well, however, to call the 
attention to some of those points, which peculiarly indicate 
purity of breed; the first of these is undoubtedly the nature of 
his coat, which, in the finest and purest strain, is long, sleek 
and wavy, but not curly, even upon the crest and ears—a ten¬ 
dency to curl indicating an admixture of the Water Spaniel—it 
should be as soft, and almost as fine and glossy as floss silk, and 
on his stem and along the back of his legs should expand into 
a fringe known technically as the feathering, often of many 
inches in extent. The head should be broad between the eyes, 
with a high bony process or ridge at the hinder extremity of 
the skull, between the ears, which is by many sportsmen thought 
to indicate the degree of the animal’s olfactory powers. There 
should be rather a deep indenture between the eyes; the nose 
should be long rather than broad, and somewhat tapering, with 
soft, moist, well-expanded nostrils, and above all things, a 
black nose and palate, with a full, liquid, dark and singularly 
expressive eye. The best breed is not very tall or bulky, and 
the great, heavy-shouldered, coarse, square-headed, club-tailed, 
fleecy brutes which are generally called Setters, in this country, 
are probably the result of some such cross as that recommended 
by Mr. Tolfrey, on the original Setter stock. 

The best and most useful dog is of medium height, very deep- 
chested and high-withered, what we should call in a horse, 
well coupled, or closely ribbed up, and very strong and broad 
across the loins. The legs should be straight, and the longer to 
the knee and hock joints, and the shorter thence to the pasterns 
the better. The feet should be hard, round, and cat-like, and 
well provided with ball and toe tufts, which are of great effi¬ 
cacy in protecting the feet from becoming sore, either from wet 
and ice, or from hard, stony, or stubby ground. Their action, 
when in movement, is very lithe and graceful, the stem is carried 
high, and constantly feathered, and it is a good sign if the head 
is likewise carried high, and if the dog snuff the air when scent¬ 
ing his game, rather than stoop his nose to the ground, and 


324 


FRANK FORESTER^ FIELD SPORTS. 


puzzle for his scent, which habit is often the result of a defi¬ 
ciency in his olfactory power. 

In my opinion, the Setter is infinitely preferable to the 
Pointer everywhere, unless in dry, barren plains, where water 
is not to be had; as in such places the Pointer can hunt well on 
an allowance of fluid, on which a Setter could not exist. The 
Pointer is more docile, it is true, and has, perhaps, a finer nose, 
though I think his extreme caution, rather than superior scent¬ 
ing qualities, has led to the idea of his superiority in this res¬ 
pect. These qualities are, however, counterbalanced by so 
many other points of superiority on the part of the Setter, that 
I must decidedly give him the palm over his rival, and espe¬ 
cially for this country, in which I am perfectly satisfied that one 
brace of Setters will do as much work, and that work more sa¬ 
tisfactorily, than two brace of Pointers, hunted steadily through 
the season, week in and week out. Individual Pointers may 
be, and have been, of rare excellence, but as a race they cannot 
compete with the Setter. For a mere tyro, who does not know 
how to control his dogs, or for one who lives in a city, and takes 
his dog out five or six times in a year only, a Pointer is un¬ 
doubtedly preferable—for, without work, a Setter is apt to be 
headstrong and wild—but for the every-day shot, the all-day¬ 
long shot, the rough-and-tumble, eager, scientific, keen sports 
man, rely upon it the Setter is the dog. 

Of the Setter, there are three principal varieties. 

The English Setter, which is the animal commonly in use 
in this country, too well known to need peculiar description, of 
which the points described above are the principal characteris¬ 
tics. He is found of all colors—black, black and white, black 
and tan, pure white, liver, liver and white, orange or red, and 
yellow and white spotted; and of all these colors he is found 
good ; indeed, as of the horse, it may be said, that a good dog 
cannot be of a bad color. Nevertheless, I am apt to think that 
liver color is apt to indicate a predominance of Pointer, or Water 
Spaniel blood, though take him altogether, the best dog I ever 
owned was liver and white, and so curly about the head that I 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


325 


sometimes suspected a Spaniel cross. A chocolate-colored nose 
I look upon as very suspicious, and a flesh-colored, or white 
nose, I think indicative of softness of constitution. 

The Irish Setter is either pure red, or red and white, or 
yellow and white spotted. His nose, lips, and palate, are inva¬ 
riably black. His coat is somewhat more wiry, and his frame 
more bony and muscular than the English dog. He is the har¬ 
diest and most dauntless of the race, and, though apt to be some¬ 
what unmanageable and headstrong, if he is sufficiently worked, 
and managed with a tight hand, these faults can be kept down, 
while his indomitable pluck, his rapidity, his perseverance, and 
his dash, render him, in my opinion, for the real hard-working 
sportsman, preferable to his English brother. 

The Scotch and Welsh Setters are in no respect distinct 
varieties, and only differ from the English, as being inferior in 
purity of blood. The Irish dog is undoubtedly the original type 
of the Setter in Great Britain. 

The Russian Setter is, however, clearly a distinct variety; 
and it is a little remarkable that this race has never been des¬ 
cribed in any American work, and that Mr. Youatt, and his 
editor, Dr. Lewis, seem to be alike unaware of its existence. 

It is rather taller than the English dog, and is very muscular 
and bony. The head is very much shorter and rounder than 
that of any other Setter, and is covered with such a fleece of 
coarse woolly hair, that unless it is clipped away from the brows, 
the animal can scarcely see. The whole body is covered by a 
coat of long, thick, woolly fleece, hanging in elf-locks knotted 
together, of many inches in length, as curly, though six times as 
long, as those of the Water Poodle. Its olfactory powers are 
of the very highest order, its docility and sagacity unequalled, 
and its courage in facing briars or water, its endurance of cold 
and fatigue, are such as to entitle it, in my opinion, to the first 
place of the whole race. It makes an admirable retriever, and 
would, I think, suit this country beyond any dog with which 
I am acquainted, though I have never seen one in America. It 
is less handsome than the English and Irish breeds, but its qua- 


326 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


lities are first-rate. They are more common in the North than 
in the South of England, and are much used on the moors. The 
Duke of Devonshire had, when I was in England, and I believe 
keeps to this day, this fine variety in its purity ; and in my boy¬ 
hood, my father, the late Dean of Manchester, had some excel¬ 
lent dogs of the Russian breed, one of which, Charon, was the 
best dog, far or near, over which I ever have drawn a trigger. 

As the excellence of the Setter or Pointer is a mooted ques¬ 
tion, and one of great utility and importance to the sportsman, 
I am not willing to rely solely on my own judgment therein, and 
have, on this account, extracted from the American edition of 
Youatt, Dr. Lewis’ opinion of the merits of the Setter, com¬ 
pared with those of the Pointer. 

“ It cannot for a moment be doubted,” he says, “ that the 
Setter has superior advantages to the Pointer, for hunting over 
our uncleared country, although the Pointer has many qualities 
that recommend him to the sportsman, that the Setter does not 
possess. In the first place, the extreme hardiness and swiftness 
of foot, natural to the Setter, enables him to get over much 
more ground than the Pointer, in the same space of time. Their 
feet also, being more hard and firm, are not so liable to become 
sore from contact with our frozen ground. The ball-pads being 
well protected by the Spaniel toe-tufts, are less likely to be 
wounded by the thorns and burs with which our woods are 
crowded during the winter season. His natural enthusiasm for 
hunting, coupled with his superior physical powers, enables him 
to stand much more work than the Pointer, and oftentimes he 
appears quite fresh upon a long-continued hunt, when the other 
will be found drooping and inattentive. 

“ The long, thick fur of the Setter, enables him to wend his 
way through briary thickets without injury to hirnself, when a 
similar attempt on the part of a Pointer, would result in his 
ears, tail and body being lacerated and streaming with blood. 

“ On the other hand, the Pointer ite superior to the Setter in 
retaining his acquired powers for hunting, and not being natu¬ 
rally enthusiastic in pursuit of game, he is more easily broken 
and kept in proper subjection. 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


327 


** The Setter frequently requires a partial rebreaking at the 
commencement of each season, in his younger days, owing to 
the natural eagerness with which he resumes the sport. The 
necessity of this, however, diminishes with age, as the charac¬ 
ter and habits of the dog become more settled, and then we may 
take them into the field, with a perfect assurance of their be¬ 
having quite as well on the first hunt of the season, as the 
staunchest Pointer would. 

“ The extreme caution, and mechanical powers of the Pointer 
in the field, is a barrier to his flushing the birds, as is often wit¬ 
nessed in the precipitate running of the Setter, who winds the 
game, and frequently overruns it, in his great anxiety to come 
up with it. But this occasional fault on the part of the Setter, 
may be counterbalanced by the larger quantity of game that he 
usually finds in a day’s hunt, owing to his enthusiasm and swift¬ 
ness of foot. Setters require much more water while hunting 
than the Pointer, owing to their thick covering of fur, encou¬ 
raging a greater amount of insensible perspiration to fly off 
than the thin and short dress of the Pointer. Consequently they 
are better calculated to hunt in the coldest seasons than early in 
our falls, which are frequently quite dry and warm. 

“ A striking instance of this fact came under our own imme¬ 
diate observation this fall, when shooting in a range of country 
thinly settled, and uncommonly dry. The day being warm, 
and the birds scarce, the dogs suffered greatly from thirst, inso¬ 
much that a very fine Setter, of uncommon bottom, was forced 
to give up entirely, completely prostrated, foaming at the mouth 
in the most alarming manner, breathing heavily, and vomiting 
from time to time a thick frothy mucus. 

“ His prostration of both muscular and nervous powers was 
so great, that he could neither smell nor take the slightest notice 
of a bird, although placed at his nose. He could barely manage 
to drag one leg after the other, stopping to rest every few mo¬ 
ments, and we were fearful that we should be obliged to shoul 
der and carry him to a farm-house, a considerable distance off. 
However, he succeeded, with much difficulty, in reaching the 


328 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


well, where he greedily drank several pints of water, adminis¬ 
tered to him with caution. 

“ He recovered almost immediately, gave me a look of thanks, 
and was off to the fields in a few moments, where he soon found 
a fine covey of birds. 

“ The Pointer, his associate in the day’s work, and a much 
less hardy dog, stood the hunt remarkably well, and seemed to 
suffer little or no inconvenience from the want of water. The 
Setter has natural claims upon the sportsman and man gene¬ 
rally, in his affectionate disposition, and attachment to his mas¬ 
ter, and the many winning manners he exhibits towards those 
by whom he is caressed. 

“ The Pointer displays but little fondness for those by whom 
he is surrounded, and hunts equally as well for a stranger as his 
master.” 

In this testimony in behalf of the Setter, on the part of an 
American gentleman, of scientific, no less than sportsmanlike 
attainments, I shall add the following quotation from “ Craven’s 
Recreations in Shooting,” a very clever English work—in which, 
by the way, I find myself quoted, without credit , as an American 
sportsman, concerning our field sports—in which the question is 
fully debated, and the excellence of the Russian Setter upheld 
by competent authority. 

“ Having now disposed,” says Craven, “ of that which by a 
slight license, may be termed the poetry of shooting, before en¬ 
tering upon its mere household stuff, allusion comes in aptly to 
its intellectual agents. Although as a principle, we have re¬ 
commended the use of the Pointer in especial to the young dis¬ 
ciple of the trigger, the first place, among shooting dogs, must 
be awarded to the Setter. In style and dash of ranging, in 
courage, and capacity of covering ground ; in beauty of form, 
and grace of attitude ; in variety of color, and elegance of cloth¬ 
ing, no animal of his species will at all bear comparison with 
him. As the respective merits of the Pointer and the Setter, 
however, have long been a mooted question among sportsmen. 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


329 


we have much pleasure in laying before the reader the opinion 
on this subject of one of the most experienced authorities in 
England, We speak of Mr. Lang, the well-known gunmaker 
of the Haymarket, to whom we are indebted for the subjoined 
letter to that interesting inquiry :— 

“‘ Having had considerable experience in breeding from some 
of the first kennels in England, Ireland, and Scotland—amongst 
them those of the late Duke of Gordon, Captain Ross, Mr. Os- 
baldeston, and other celebrated sportsmen; and having also spent 
many years, and much money, in the endeavor to produce a supe¬ 
rior description of Pointers and Setters, an account of my pro¬ 
gress may be useful. I begin with my opinions concerning 
Pointers, by stating where I consider them superior, and where 
inferior, to Setters. 

“ ‘ Pointers are better for Partridge* shooting, as they are 
milder in disposition, more tractable, and closer rangers; the 
latter a property of all others the most desirable, if you want to 
kill birds after the first fortnight in the season. They want also 
less water than Setters, who often suffer much in hot weather, in 
districts where it is not to be found. True, Pointers require 
more walking to, to beat their ground properly; but I am per¬ 
suaded, that if, instead of racing through the middle of a field, 
as though they were walking for a wager, and thus giving their 
dogs no earthly chance, young sportsmen were to go slower 
than they generally do, they would do more justice to them¬ 
selves, their dogs, and their preserves. Few Pointers can stand 
work on the moors—where the cream of all shooting is to be 
had—unless they have been bred, or have been regularly worked 
on them. I know many gentlemen who greatly prefer them, 
when so bred, to Setters; but Scotch Pointers are not so highly 

* It must be remembered that this quotation is from an English book, and 
that the English Partridge is the bird spoken of above, there being no Partridge 
in America. The argument held above, would be perfectly applicable to QuaL 
shooting, were Quail only found in the open, but as they betake themselves, as 
soon as flushed, to the densest covert, the Setter is here, more than anywhere* 
in the ascendant. 


330 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


bred as south-country dogs, and therefore more calculated for 
rough work. Many are crossed with the Foxhound, which 
gives them speed and courage as well as hardness of foot; but 
the produce of the first cross is generally too high-mettled to be 
managed with ease, being difficult to break from running Hares, 
or to down -charge ; and, for the most part, very hard-mouthed. 
You may reckon on six days out of every twelve being rainy 
in the Highlands; the wet, and injuries from burnt heather, 
&c., cause the Pointer soon to become foot-sore, particularly 
between the toes, as he has no hair to protect his feet, like the 
Setter. High-bred Pointers are also delicate in their appetites, 
and will not eat the Scotch meal at first. Gentlemen should 
have plenty of greaves sent to their shooting quarters to mix 
with it, as meat can seldom be had in the remote Grouse coun¬ 
tries. They should give orders that their dogs should be fed 
immediately on their return from the hills, and their feet care¬ 
fully washed with salt and water : indeed, if gentlemen saw to 
those things themselves, they would find their account in it, 
observing that such dogs as would not feed well were never 
taken out the following day. ‘ A stitch in time saves nine,’ is 
a good wholesome maxim. 

“ ‘ I now proceed to speak of the Setter. The Irish Setters 
are very beautiful both in and out of the field ; but so hot-head¬ 
ed, that unless always at work, and kept under very strict 
discipline, they constantly spoil sport for the first hour, frequent¬ 
ly the best in the whole day. I have shot to many, and found 
them all pretty much alike. I had one, the history of whose bad 
and good qualities would fill half-a-dozen pages. As long as I 
kept him to regular hard work, a better never entered a field : 
I refused forty guineas for him, and shot him a month afterwards 
for his bad deeds. I bred from him, out of an English Setter 
bitch, and some of the produce turned out very good; one of 
them I shot to myself for eight seasons : my reasons for parting 
with him I will presently explain. Unless to throw more dash 
into my kennel, I should never be tempted again to become 
master of an Irish Setter. Frequently, Partridges are driven 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


331 


into gorse or low cover, in the middle of the day, which few 
Pointers will face. I know it is not the fashion to shoot to dogs 
in cover; but most true sportsmen prefer shooting five brace of 
pheasants to Setters or mute Spaniels, to fifty brace to beaters. 
In the latter case you stand sometimes an hour together without 
getting a shot; and then they rise a dozen at a time, like barn¬ 
door fowls, and as many are killed in a few hours as would serve 
for weeks of fair shooting. 

“ ‘ In the season of 1839 I was asked for a week’s shooting into 
Somersetshire, by an old friend, whose science in everything 
connected with shooting is first-rate. Then, for the first time 
for many years, I had my dogs, English Setters, beaten hollow. 
His breed was from pure Russian Setters* crossed by an 
English Setter dog, which some years ago made a sensation in 
the sporting world, from his extraordinary performances; he 
belonged to the late Joseph Manton, and had been sold for a 
hundred guineas. Although I could not but remark the excel¬ 
lence of my friend’s dogs, yet it struck me, as I had shot over 
my own old favorite Setter—who had himself, beat many good 
ones, and never before been beaten—for eight years, that his 
nose could not have been right, for the Russians got three points 
to his one. I therefore resolved to try some others against 
them the next season ; and having heard a gentleman, well 
known as an excellent judge, speak of a brace of extraordinary 
dogs he had seen in the neighborhood of his Yorkshire moors, 
with his recommendation I purchased them. I shot to them in 
August 1S40, and their beauty and style of performance were 
spoken of in terms of praise by a correspondent to a spoiling 
paper. In September I took them into Somersetshire, fully 
anticipating that I should give the Russians the go-by; but I 
was again disappointed. I found, from the wide ranging of my 
dogs, and the noise consequent upon their going so fast through 
stubbles and turnips—particularly in the middle of the day, 
when the sun was powerful, and there was but little scent—that 
they constantly put up their birds out of distance; or, if they 
did get a point, that the game would rarely lie till we could get 


332 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


to it. The Russians, on the contrary, being much closer 
rangers, quartering their ground steadily—heads and tails up— 
and possessing perfection of nose, in extreme heat, wet, or cold, 
enabled us to bag double the head of game that mine did. 
Nor did they lose one solitary wounded bird; whereas, with 
my own dogs, I lost six brace the first two days’ Partridge 
shooting, the most of them in standing corn. 

“ ‘ My old friend and patron, having met with a severe acci¬ 
dent while hunting, determined to go to Scotland for the next 
three years. Seeing that my dogs were well calculated for 
Grouse shooting, as they had been broken and shot to on the 
moors, and being aware of my anxiety to possess the breed of 
his Russians, he^ery kindly offered to exchange them for mine, 
with a promise I would preserve a brace of Russian puppies 
for him. Although I had refused fifty guineas for my brace, I' 
most gladly closed with his offer. Since then I have hunted 
them in company with several dogs of high character, but 
nothing that I have yet seen could equal them. If not taken 
out for six months, they are perfectly steady, which is a quality 
rarely to be met with. Every spoilsman must know, that the 
fewer dogs he can do his work with properly, the better; for 
if they are in condition, they cannot be too frequently hunted ; 
and their tempers, style of working, &c., become more familiar 
to him. On this the whole comfort of shooting depends. Upon 
these grounds I contend that, for all kinds of shooting therefore 
there is nothing equal to the Russian, or half-bred Russian Set¬ 
ter, in nose, sagacity, and every other qualification that a dog 
ought to possess. It may appear an exaggeration, but it is 
my opinion, in which I am supported by many of the first 
sportsmen in England, that there is not one keeper in fifty that 
knows how to manage and break a dog efficiently. It is a 
common practice for keepers to take their dogs out for an hour 
or two, twice or thrice a week, morning or evening, just before 
the commencement of the season—what would be thought of 
training a horse in that way, for a race over the flat, or a stee¬ 
ple-chase ! Hard and constant work is as necessary for a dog, 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


333 


that has to hunt from morning to night, and frequently for 
several successive days, as for a race-horse. He should be 
taken out two or three hours daily, in the middle of the day, to 
use him to the heat, for three or four weeks before the season 
begins; and let me observe in conclusion ; that if his master 
were to adopt a similar course, he would have good cause to 
rejoice in the precaution before the end of his first week’s 
shooting.’ 

“ Another gentleman, a large breeder of sporting dogs, thus 
answered our queries as to the kind of animal best suited to the 
general purpose of shooting :— 

“ ‘ I have tried all sorts, and, at last, fixed upon a well-bred 
Setter as the most useful. I say well-bred, for not many of 
the dogs with feathered sterns, which one sees now-a-days, are 
worthy the name of Setter. Pointer fanciers object to Setters 
on account of their requiring more water; but there are gene¬ 
rally sufficient springs and peat-holes on the moors for them; 
and, even in the early part of September, a horse-pond or ditch 
is to be met with often enough. For cover, or Snipe-shooting, 
the Setter is far superior, facing the thorns in the cover, and the 
wet in the bogs, without coming to heel, shivering like a pig in 
the ague. I have always found, too, that Setters, when well 
broke, are finer tempered, and not so easily cowed as Pointers. 
Should they get an unlucky undeserved kick, Don, the Setter, 
wags his tail, and forgets it much sooner than Carlo, the 
Pointer. My shooting lying near the moors, takes in every 
description of country, and I always find that, after a good 
rough day, the Setter will out-tire the Pointer, though, perhaps, 
not start quite so flash in the morning. 

“ * I always teach one , at least, of my dogs to bring his game, 
which saves a world of trouble, both in and out of cover, but 
never allow him to stir for the bird until after loading. Should 
any of these remarks prove of service, I shall feel most happy 
in having assisted a brother sportsman.’ ” 

To this I will only add, that I have both seen and owned 
Setters, which on the first day of the season were as steady and 


334 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


as perfectly under command, as on the last; that I have seen 
them tried, day in and day out, for weeks together, with the 
most admirable imported Pointers, and that they proved always 
equal to them; in late Snipe-shooting, when the water is cold 
and skimmed with ice, or in autumn shooting in thorny and 
briary covert, they beat them out of sight. 

I may mention here a brace which I possessed, and over 
which I shot eight seasons, never allowing any person to hunt 
them on a single occasion after their leaving the breaker’s hands, 
except myself, and keeping them at steady work. One was a 
liver and white English dog, broke by Mr. Sandford, of New- 
Jersey, whom I have mentioned before; the other a red Irish 
Setter, with a white ring and four white stockings, broke by 
Dilke. They were both undeniable dogs, but the liver and 
white was the best retriever I ever saw. The test of their ex¬ 
cellence is in the fact that in 1836, the late Mr. Peter G-. Barker, 
of New-York offered me, and I refused , eight hundred dollars 
for the brace. They had cost me two hundred, and I had shot 
over them four seasons afterward, when the price was bid. 
I have only farther to say that I never regretted the refusal, as 
I never saw in all respects a brace of dogs so perfect. 

I shall now proceed to the Pointer. 


THE POINTER. 

It is conceded that this animal is the offspring of the two 
ancient races known as sagaces , or intelligent, and pugnaces or 
bellicosi , or warlike, and I am inclined to think, myself, that his 
share of the latter blood, is even greater than is generally im¬ 
agined. His intelligence, except so far as indicated by his 
power of scenting his game, is of rather a low order, and though 
docile and easily commanded, he is not generally sagacious, oi 
affectionate. Neither his temper nor other qualities, except in 
the field, greatly recommend him; but for the steady pursuit of 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


335 


his game in the open plain, his great caution in not over¬ 
running it, his great capacities of enduring heat and thirst, 
and his retentive memory of what he has been taught, unqual¬ 
ified by any headstrong or impetuous dash, render him, for the 
pursuit of some species of animals and for some localities, 
unrivalled. Of the latter there are few in this country. The 
sandy Grouse barrens of Long Island, Martha’s Vineyard and 
the New-Jersey Pine-grounds, while there were Grouse on 
them, were well adapted to the display of his peculiar and char¬ 
acteristic excellencies. The Grouse mountains of Pennsylvania 
are so rocky and so much beset with stubs that his bare feet, 
unless protected with buckskin boots, through which the claws 
must be suffe;ed to protrude, will not enable him to bear the 
wear and tear of daily work. Some of the western praries, 
which are dry and deficient of water, are well suited for him, 
as in Wisconsin and parts of Michigan ; and there, he is prized, 
and deservedly. 

Of this animal there are two breeds, separate and conspicuous, 
of which all the others are varieties, and none of the latter suf¬ 
ficiently peculiar or different either in appearance or qualifica¬ 
tions to merit any especial description or notice. 

These two breeds are the Old Spanish Pointer, which is the 
origin and type of the race, and the improved, or English 
Pointer. Of the former, the Portuguese, and of the latter, the 
French Pointer, are coarser and inferior varieties,—all the 
points attributed to the last-named dog as characteristic, 
namely, large head, pendent ears, and thick tail, being common 
to every coarse, ill-bred English dog. 

“The Spanish Pointer,” says Mr. Youatt, “originally a 
native of Spain, was once considered to be a valuable dog. Re 
stood higher on his legs, but was too large and heavy in his 
limbs, and had widely spread ugly feet, exposing him to fre¬ 
quent lameness. His muzzle and head were large, correspond¬ 
ing with the acuteness of his smell. His ears were large and 
pendent, and his body ill-formed. He was naturally an ill-tem • 
pered dog, growling at the hand that would caress him, even 
vol. i. 24 


336 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


although it were his master’s. He stood steadily to his birds ; 
but it was difficult to break him of chasing the Hare. He was 
deficient in speed. His redeeming quality was his excellent 
scent, unequalled in any other kind of dog. 

“ To convince our readers of the value of this particulai 
breed, we may mention the very singular sale of Col. Thornton’s 
dog Dash, who was purchased by Sir Richard Symons for one 
hundred and sixty pounds’ worth of Champagne and Burgundy, 
a hogshead of Claret, and an elegant gun and another Pointer, 
with a stipulation that if any accident befell the dog, he was to 
be returned to his former owner for fifty guineas. Dash unfor¬ 
tunately broke his leg, and in accordance with the agreement 
of sale, was returned to the Colonel, who considered him a for¬ 
tunate acquisition as a stallion to breed from. See Blain or 
Daniel.” 

This animal, which was once considered very valuable, is now 
entirely superseded by the improved, or English dogs. He was 
often what is vulgarly called double-nosed , having a deep fur¬ 
row between the nostrils; and to this peculiarity, I have heard 
the excellence of their scenting powers attributed, of course ab¬ 
surdly. Mr. Youatt, on the contrary, I am surprised to see, at¬ 
tributes the deficiency of the same powers, in a certain French 
breed, having the like deformity, to the same cause. I quite 
agree with Dr. Lewis, in regarding any such reason, whether 
for good or evil qualities, as wholly visionary. 

Ugliness, want of speed, and ill temper, are causes which 
have banished the Spanish Pointer from the kennel of the true 
sportsman. More of the blood is to be found in the Pointer 
commonly used in this country, than in the English breed, the 
points and characteristics of which are well laid down as follows, 
by Dr. Lewis. 

“ The English Pointer will now claim more particularly our 
attention. It is quite useless to go into a general description of 
an animal of whom we have already said much, and with whom 
we are all familiar; but we will endeavor to mention the most 
striking points of the species, which marks can be referred to as 
guides in the purchase of a dog. 


UPLAND SHOOTING, 


337 


“ It is a difficult matter to put on paper, in a manner satisfac 
tory either to the reader or writer, the peculiarities of any ani¬ 
mal, whereby he may judged pure or mixed. However, there 
are, generally, some few points in each species, that can be se¬ 
lected as proofs of their genuineness and ability to perform cer¬ 
tain actions peculiar to the race. 

“ But, after all, more reliance must be placed upon the good 
faith of the seller, or the previous knowledge of the strain from 
which the purchaser selects*—and what is better than either, 
from actual observation in the field; all of which precautions 
may, nevertheless, prove abortive, and our dog be worthless. 

“ As regards the size of the English Pointer, we may say, 
that he averages in length about three feet, from the tip of the 
muzzle to the base of the tail, and from twenty-two to twenty- 
six inches high. His head not bulky, nor too narrow, the fron¬ 
tal sinuses largely developed. 

“ The muzzle long, and rather tapering, the nostrils large 
and well open, the ear slightly erect, not over long, and the tip 
triangular; if too pendent, large and rounded at the tip, there 
is too much of the hound present. The eyes lively, but not too 
prominent; the neck rather long, and not over thick, the chest 
broad, the limbs large and muscular; the paws strong, hard, 
and wide. The body and loins thin, rather than bulky, the hind 
quarters broad, and the limbs in the same proportion with the 
fere members; the tail long and tapering.” 

To this there is very little to be added, except that the higher 
the breed, the shorter, the sleeker, and the more satiny the skin, 
and the thinner the ear. Any tendency to long hair about the 
stern or legs, hints loudly at a Setter cross, which improves nei- 
her the temper nor the qualities of the dog. 

Like Setters, Pointers are of all colors, and I know not that 
any color has the preference ; but as in the Setter I should dis¬ 
trust liver color, which I regard as properly a Pointer color, so 
in the Pointer I look with suspicion on red or yellow, that being 
a Setter or Spaniel tint. There is a very pure and high strain 
of Pointers, principally white, with liver-colored ears and faces, 


338 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


having a light tan spot over each eye, and a tan shadowing 
round the muzzle, and a few liver spots on the body. No tint 
is preferable to this. Black and tan is an undeniable, though 
uncommon color for the Pointer, coming probably from Fox¬ 
hound blood; and pure black dogs are frequent and good. I dis¬ 
like a black and white spotted Pointer, it has a currish look, to 
say the least of it. 

The more highly bred any animal is, the better he will be, 
I believe, in all respects. The Pointer’s skin becomes infi¬ 
nitely tenderer, and his whole frame more delicate and fine¬ 
drawn, by high breeding; but so much does he gain thereby, 
in pluck and courage, that I have seen pure-blooded dogs of this 
strain tearing their way through cat-briar brakes, literally bleed¬ 
ing at every pore, and whimpering with pain, while great, 
coarse-bred, hairy brutes, of six times their apparent power of 
frame, and capacities of endurance, slunk away like curs, as 
they were, unable to face the thorns. 

In every animal, from the man, in whom I believe it tells the 
most, down to the bullock and the Berkshire hog, I am an im¬ 
plicit believer in the efficacy of blood and breeding to develop all 
qualities, especially courage to do, and courage to bear—as well 
as to produce the highest and most delicate nervous organiza¬ 
tion ; and I would as willingly have a cur in my shooting ken¬ 
nel, as a mule in my racing stable, if I had one. 

I will now proceed to notice briefly, as becomes the scanti¬ 
ness of his use in this country, 


THE COCKING SPANIEL. 

This beautiful, intelligent, and useful dog, which, like the 
Pointer, is, as his name indicates, probably of Spanish origin, is 
very little known or used in this country, except as a pet and 
plaything for ladies; and yet there is no country in the world 
for which, from the great prevalence of woodland over open 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


339 


shooting, the great thickness and severity of the covert, and the 
peculiar species of game, it would be more useful. There are 
many varieties of this beautiful, active, and industrious little 
dog, but the best and most adapted for this country is the large 
Cocking Spaniel, or Springer, which is found in the greatest 
perfection in Sussex. 

This dog, which is probably the original stock of the Setter, 
cannot be better described than as resembling a Setter, in the 
same degree as a punchy, powerful, short-legged pony, resem¬ 
bles a well-bred horse. It is very strong and bony for its size, 
and has great industry, indefatigable spirit, and indomitable cou¬ 
rage—nay ! its faults partake of these latter qualities, as it is 
wont to be rash, impetuous, and headstrong. One of the great¬ 
est drawbacks to its excellence in England, would not exist in 
this country; I mean its propensity to chase Hares, which 
abound in many preserves there to such a degree, that they are 
bouncing up at every step, and the Spaniels are yelping and 
yaffing after them all the time. Here the Hare is comparatively 
a rare animal, and in this respect the temptation of the Spaniel 
to wildness, would be very greatly diminished in the United 
States, or in Canada. 

The head of the Spaniel, and especially the nose, is propor- 
tionably much shorter than that of the Setter, the frontal sinuses 
more fully developed, the eye larger and more prominent, the 
ears much longer and more curly, some so long that they lite¬ 
rally seem as if they were intended “ to sweep away the morn¬ 
ing dew.” 

Their coats are altogether longer, and more curly, the tails not 
merely feathered, but bushy, and the legs thickly fringed, even to 
the toes. 

These dogs are of all colors, but I prefer the Blenheim color, 
rich orange and white, with a full moist eye, and coal-black nose 
and palate. 

They require great steadiness, and constant attention, both in 
the breaking, and the hunting when broken ; but firmness, cou¬ 
pled with general mildness, and constancy of temper, with occa- 


340 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


sional severity, will easily prevail, and render them nearly per¬ 
fect. 

As they flush their game immediately, without standing or 
crouching, it is absolutely necessary that they should be under 
perfect command ; they must never be above ten or fifteen paces 
distant from the gun, and they must be trained, until it has be 
come their second nature and instinct, to slacken their pace, in¬ 
stead of increasing it, when- they strike the trail of game, which 
the sportsman will learn by their yelp, or, if they be of the mute 
kind, by the redoubled feathering and flourishing of his bushy 
tail, and by an occasional low, impatient whimper. 

This, and to drop to shot, the instant the gun is discharged, is 
all they have necessarily to learn; although it is a great addition 
to their worth, if they are broke to retrieve their game, when 
ordered to go on, after having dropped to “ charge .” This 
dropping to charge, of infinite importance with all dogs, is even 
more important with the Springer, or Cocking Spaniel, than 
with the Pointer, or Setter; for, whereas the latter are taught 
both by their instinct and their breaking, to stand or set their 
game, there is some chance that, if they do break in after shot, 
they will still point anything on which they may chance to blun¬ 
der, while the Spaniel being broke to flush, if he stir at all, will 
indubitably run up everything that crosses his path. 

For summer or autumn Cock shooting, for Quail shooting in 
heavy covert, and for Ruffed Grouse shooting, I am satisfied 
that these little beauties would be invaluable in this country; 
and that in many districts twice as many head of game might 
be killed over them, in the same space of time, as over any 
other kind of dog. 

I have often wondered at the neglect of this variety by sports¬ 
men of this country, never having met but three gentlemen, two 
in the States and one in Canada, who used them. I hope to 
succeed in importing a brace of highly-bred, and well-broke 
Springers, of the large breed, this autumn, and to establish the 
breed. Should I be fortunate in my endeavors, it will be a 
source of much pleasure to me t? accommodate sportsmen de- 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


341 


sirous of trying the experiment with some of the progeny, and 
with my best advice and instructions as to their management 
and use. 

Having thus disposed of the three species of dog used in Up¬ 
land shooting, I shall proceed shortly to lay down a few plain 
and general rules, for their treatment in the kennel and the 
field, their condition, breaking, and some of their more ordinary 
and dangerous diseases, and then pass onward to fowl shooting 
on the shores of the Atlantic. 


KENNEL MANAGEMENT. 

The first point in kennel management is the kennel itself, and, 
for a person keeping several dogs, the best and most suitable to 
this country is an enclosure of pickets, sufficiently high to ren¬ 
der it impossible for dogs even to attempt to leap over them, 
surrounding a space of ground the larger the better, as the dogs 
will then have room enough to run at speed, and to play toge¬ 
ther, which is undoubtedly conducive to health. This space 
should be gravelled, or strewed with fine sand, and if it could 
be so contrived as to have a channel of water running through 
it, that would be a great addition, both to the health and com¬ 
fort of the dogs. 

Along one side or end of this place should be a shed, closed 
at the back and ends, with a shingle roof, at least ten feet deep, 
so as to afford a complete shelter from snow, rain, and sun¬ 
shine. This shed, which should be open in front, must be 
floored with plank, with a moderate inclination, so as to allow 
any moisture to drain off readily. The opening should face the 
south. Along the back of this shed should be ranged a row of 
ordinary dog-houses of pine plank, one for each dog. These 
should have no bottoms, that they may be removed, and the 
boards scoured beneath, from time to time. They should not be 
less than three feet in length, by two in breadth, and two feet 
high at the eaves, by three at the ridge. The smaller the aper- 


342 


FRANK. FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


ture the better, provided it is big enough to allow the ingress 
and egress of the dog. The inside should be whitewashed, and 
the very best bed that can be devised is fine pine shavings, as it 
is as soft and warm as any, and the turpentine which it con¬ 
tains is the surest of all antidotes against vermin. 

For persons living in towns, not having the command of 
space, or keeping but a single dog, the movable dog-house, such 
as I have described, placed on a plank platform, and having a 
post annexed, to which the dog may be chained, will answer the 
purpose, though if a dog is kept constantly chained up, he 
should have regular exercise. If such a kennel as I have men¬ 
tioned be used, each dog should at first be chained to a staple 
adjoining his own house, to which he will soon become so per¬ 
fectly accustomed, that he will never attempt to enter that of 
his neighbor; and if they are watched at first, and punished if 
they quarrel, they will live harmoniously enough; provided al¬ 
ways, that no bones or scraps of food be ever suffered to remain 
in the kennel to breed contention, and that none of the fair sex— 
to dogs, as to men, teterrima belli causa —be allowed to be at 
large among the males, in those seasons when they are most ob¬ 
noxious to addresses. Setters are much less quarrelsome than 
Pointers, but steadiness and firmness will keep peace even 
among the latter. 

It is unnecessary to say that the kennel, whether for one or 
many dogs, cannot be kept too scrupulously clean; as the least col¬ 
lection of dirt not only renders the animal uncomfortable to him¬ 
self, and offensive to others, but promotes humors, and is a mov¬ 
ing cause of some of the worst disorders. 

Where it is not found practicable to have a channel of run¬ 
ning water through the kennel, each dog should be provided at 
all times with his own large earthen pan of water, which should 
be kept continually fresh and renewed; and in each pan there 
should be at all seasons a piece of bar brimstone, but especially 
in summer. This, acting as an alterative and gentle purgative 
will keep the bowels in good condition, cool the blood, and pre 
serve the softness of the coat. 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


343 


It will be found an excellent plan to feed all the dogs, if se¬ 
veral, at once, from one long common trough, into which the 
food should be poured, in regular order, and the dogs then called 
out one by one, by name, from their houses, to which they 
should previously be compelled to retire, and none suffered to 
approach until so summoned. The feeder shou’d stand over 
hem, while feeding, with a switch, and the firs growl, or indi- 
ation of an attempt to quarre , should be punished with a smart 
ut; any voracity, in like manner, can be checked or mode- 
ated by a word; and if any dog eat so ravenously, as to get 
more than his share, he must be quietly, but firmly, called off, 
and ordered to his own kennel. By this method, order, regu¬ 
larity, and obedience, will be greatly increased in the kennel; 
and, what is of more importance, the general good humor and 
good understanding of the dogs will be greatly promoted, so 
that if, as may often become necessary, as, for instance, in tra¬ 
velling on board steamboats, or in other places where accom¬ 
modation is difficult and scanty, you should be compelled to feed 
your dogs out of one vessel, they will eat together cheerfully 
and agreeably, and lie down to get their rest as good friends, 
instead of fighting a pitched battle over the plate, and growling 
at one another all night long, instead of going peaceably to 
sleep. 

Attention to litt e matters of this kind is of great real impor¬ 
tance. A fight between a brace of dogs, may deprive the owner 
of the services of one, or both, for half a dozen consecutive days ; 
and so destroy the sport of a week, on which he has counted, 
and for which he has, perhaps, incurred considerable trouble 
and expense. Even the loss of a night’s rest will render dogs 
peevish, deprive them of their noses, and make them dull and 
listless during half a day. The subject of feeding is of great 
importance, and of it I shall treat somewhat at length, after ob¬ 
serving that frequent washing and bathing is of exceeding bene¬ 
fit to dogs in fine weather, when they have suitable conve¬ 
niences for drying themselves. After a swim, or a hard day’s 
shooting in snow, or in marshes, a good wheaten straw bed is the 


344 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


best restorative; and that is the only time when I approve of 
straw for a bed, as it is heating, and has a strong tendency to 
harbor vermin. To curry a dog, or comb him with a horse’s 
mane comb, and then brush him thoroughly, will be found to 
contribute to his cleanliness, comfort, and health, in a far higher 
degree, than the trouble of seeing it done will incommode the 
sportsman. A little method, and the regular observance of 
hours, will render all these things easy, and they will soon come 
to be regarded by the servant as matters of every day occur¬ 
rence, and as such to be done, and the trouble disregarded. 

With regard to feeding, a question on w T hich very much of the 
condition, and not a little of the olfactory powers of the dog, 
Mr. Blaine in his great work on Canine Pathology, asks the fol¬ 
lowing question, and proceeds forthwith to answer it. 

“ What is the best foodfor dogs ? An examination of this ani¬ 
mal must end in determining that he is neither wholly carnivo¬ 
rous, nor wholly herbivorous, but of a mixed kind ; intended to 
take in as well vegetable as animal matter, and formed to re¬ 
ceive nourishment from either. He is furnished with sharp cut¬ 
ting teeth for tearing flesh, and he has also tolerably broad sur¬ 
faces on other of his teeth, capable of grinding farinaceous sub¬ 
stances : his stomach and intestines likewise hold a middle place 
between those of the carnivorous and herbivorous tribes. At 
the same time, both his dental and his digestive organs appear 
rather more adapted to the mastication and assimilation of ani 
mal than vegetable matter; to which also his habits and partia¬ 
lities evidently tend. He is by nature predacious, and intended 
to live on other animals; the stronger he hunts in troops, the 
weaker he conquers singly. Yet still it is clear that his organs 
fit him, when necessary, for receiving nutriment from vegetable 
matter also, and we likewise see that he voluntarily seeks it, 
probably as a necessary mixture, to prevent that tendency to 
putridity, which too great a quantity of animal food begets. It 
is a received opinion among many sportsmen, that flesh-feeding 
injures the scent; but it cannot do it naturally : for the fox, one 
of the caninae, which is known to be by choice wholly camivo- 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


345 


rous, principally lives by the exquisite sensibility of his olfac¬ 
tory organs. If the eating of flesh really have such an effect on 
sporting dogs, it can only do so, when it has been taken in such 
quantities as to vitiate the secretions of the body; and in this 
way the pituitary mucous secretion of the nasal sinuses may 
themselves become somewhat tainted. 

“ A mixture of animal and vegetable substances is therefore the 
most proper general food for dogs, and that which best agrees 
with the analogies of their nature; but the proportions of each 
are best determined by the exertions of the body.” 

I do not, I confess, lay any stress whatever on the argument 
drawn from the natural state of the canince, or from the habits of 
the fox, since it is too notorious to require comment, that animals 
in a high state of cultivation, not only acquire new wants as well 
as new habits, but lose many of their natural qualities and in¬ 
stincts. And I am thoroughly convinced, that the habitual 
feeding of dogs on flesh has a tendency to injure their powers 
of scenting; and I believe the reason why it does so, is precisely 
because it docs “ vitiate the secretions of the body” generally, 
and therefore does affect “ the nasal sinuses.” 

1 have observed many times, that dogs fed largely, even on 
perfectly fresh animal food, particularly in a raw state, become 
intolerably offensive in odor; and when this is the case it is cer¬ 
tain that the secretions of the body are vitiated, and probable, 
moreover, that the health of the animal is in some sort affected 
likewise. 

That flesh is necessary to dogs, I will not, however, deny; 
and it is my opinion that, during the dead seasons of the year 
when there is no field work to be done, except exercise, flesh 
may be given not only without detriment, but with advantage. 
Raw meat tends, unquestionably, to give a dog both strength 
and ferocity; ant 1 the latter is so nearly allied to endurance, 
and what is commonly called pluch, that we can scarcely encour¬ 
age the one quality, apart from the others. 

I would therefore feed dogs, while getting them into condition, 
on flesh—and I would not even object to raw horse-flesh for that 


346 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


purpose—without stint, save that of their own appetites, having 
care to give them a sufficiency of sulphur in their water to keep 
their bodies open. 

Well-fed, nay even rendered fat, upon this strong and hearty 
food, and worked down into hard flesh and sound condition by 
constant, and, toward the commencement of season, sharp and 
fast exercise, Setters or Pointers will have raised such a stock 
of muscle, and will be so high in courage, that they may safely 
dispense with all solid animal food during the prevalence of 
the shooting season. 

We have one advantage in this country over the residents of 
Great Britain, in regard to dog-feeding, that whereas both oat 
and barley meal are apt to he*at the blood of the animal to such 
a degree as to produce cuticular eruptions and redness, not 
very dissimilar to mange, we possess in the meal of the maize, 
or Indian corn, a substance admirably adapted to the food of 
the dog; which moreover has a tendency to act on him as a 
slight and gentle alterative. 

This I consider to be the perfection of dog-food, and the fol¬ 
lowing is the best way of preparing it. 

Take a caldron half full of water, set it over a small furnace, 
and when boiling cast in a handful of salt: then stir in the 
meal, keeping the water still boiling, until it has attained the 
consistency of very thick porridge. Remove it from the fire, 
and let it cool gradually, running the blade of a knife round 
the side of the pot, which will prevent its adherence to the 
metal. When cold, it will have hardened into the consistency 
of stiff batter pudding, and than this, either alone, or with 
milk, butter-milk, or pot liquor, no better food can be given to 
hunting dogs. Observe, however, that the pot liquor of ham, 
salt-pork, salt-beef, or the like, is objectionable ; as is the fat, 
grease or scraps of such food; the excess of salt having a ten¬ 
dency to produce a very obstinate species of mange. 

For a person who keeps several dogs, there is no better mode 
than to let the butcher regularly supply him with sheep heads, 
which w r ill cost a mere trifle, at the rate of one for each dog 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


347 


every second day. These boiled completely to rags, and the 
residuum added to the meal, will leave no desideratum in the 
way of feeding. 

It is well to observe that vegetables of almost any kind, 
as potatoes, carrots, parsnips, and even cabbages, may be 
added to this mess, and that to the dog’s great advantage. The 
quantity may be gradually increased, beginning with so small a 
portion that the flavor of the mess shall not be altered, until the 
dog will eat the vegetables almost alone. The best kennel 
huntsman I ever knew in England, was in the habit of feeding 
his dogs one day in six, during the hunting season, and twice a 
week during the rest of the year on vegetables and meal only, 
without flesh, and I never saw dogs stouter and finer in 
condition. 

Dogs should be supplied freely, if kept chained up in cities, 
where they cannot procure their natural herbaceous emetic, 
with the common dog-grass, or queech-grass, triticum repens; 
and where this cannot be obtained, should occasionally have an 
emetic given them, consisting of tartarized antimony —emetic 
tartar —from one to three grains, in proportion to the size of 
the dog. It can be given most readily, mixed with lard or but¬ 
ter into a small ball; or between two slices of meat, when the 
dog is hungry. Common salt, in doses varying from half a 
small teaspoonful to one and a-half, in proportion to size, may 
be administered as an emetic; but it is violent in its action, and 
should therefore be used only when no other can be readily 
obtained. 

When dogs have been very fat previous to the commence¬ 
ment of the shooting season, and strong exercise has been 
brought into play to reduce and bring them into perfect condi¬ 
tion, a few gentle doses of purgative medicine will be of great 
service to the animal, and will improve all his powers, both of 
speed, endurance and scent. 

“ The term condition,” says Mr. Blaine, “ as applied to dogs 
is correspondent with the same term as used among horses, and 
is intended to characterize a healthy external appearance, 


348 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


united with a capability, from full wind and perfect vigor, to go 
through all the exercises required of them. It is, therefore, 
evident that condition is of material consequence to sportsmen; 
indeed, it is of infinitely more importance than is generally im¬ 
agined. What would be thought of that sporting character who 
should enter his horse for racing without any previous training 1 
and how much chance would he be presumed to have, even to 
‘ save his distance ,’ without this precaution % Is it not equally 
reasonable to suppose that Pointers, Setters, Spaniels, and more 
than all, Greyhounds,* require training; or, in other words 
to be in full condition also 1 It is notorious, that Pointers, Set¬ 
ters, and Spaniels, if they are what is termed foul in their coats, 
never have their scent in perfection. It must be equally evident 
that, unless they are ‘ in wind,’ they cannot range with speed 
and durability ; and without some previous training, it is impos¬ 
sible they should be so. Those persons, therefore, who expect 
superior exertion from their dogs in the field, would do well to 
prepare them by a previous attention to their condition. In 
Greyhounds, intended either for matches or for simple coursing, 
it is evident that this is absolutely necessary to insure success. 
In simple coursing, they are pitted against an animal very 
nearly equal in speed to themselves, and always in condition by 
its habits. If, therefore, a dog of acknowledged goodness is 
beaten by a Hare, especially at the beginning of the season, it 
is ten to one but the condition of the dog is at fault. It is self- 
evident that perfect condition must be more than equally impor 
tant in coursing matches; where a dog has two competitors to 
beat, the Hare and the other dog. 

“ The manner of getting dogs into condition is very simple, and 

* I was, at first, about to omit that part relating to Greyhounds, as in conse¬ 
quence of there existing no animal in the Eastern States fit for their pursuit, and 
consequently no field for their powers, they are useless, and only kept as pets. 
I am, however, so well assured that they must come into use to the Westward, 
and that the finest sport conceivable might be had with them on the prairies in 
pursuit of the Deer, the Antelope, and with the large Scotch wiry breed of the 
Elk and Wolf also, that I have resolved to retain the whole passage. 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


349 


either consists in reducing the animal from* too full and soft a 
state to one of firmness and less bulk; or it consists in raising 
a lean and reduced dog to lustiness, hardness, and vigor. Some 
sportsmen prefer the one state, and some the other to begin 
upon. If a dog be fat, his treatment must be entered on by 
physic and sufficient exercise, but not by two great a privation 
of food; and it must be particularly observed, that his doses of 
physic be mild, but more in number. The exercise should be 
at first gradual and slow, but long continued; and at last it 
should be increased to nearly what he will be accustomed to 
when hunting. If there be the least foulness— i. e. if the secre¬ 
tions of the skin are impure—apparent in the habit, besides 
physic and exercise, alteratives should be given also: these 
medicines immediately follow the subject of condition. Some 
sportsmen regularly dress their dogs, before the hunting season, 
with sulphur, even though no breaking-out appears, and I by 
no means think the practice a bad one. Others curry or brush 
their dogs, whether any skin affection appears or not; and, to 
Greyhounds, it is a very proper means of keeping-up the equili¬ 
brium of the circulation, and of promoting muscular elasticity. 
When a lean dog is to be got into condition , less physic is neces¬ 
sary ; but good flesh feeding, plenty of exercise, and a due ad¬ 
ministration of alteratives, are principally to be resorted to: 
nevertheless, one or two doses of very mild physic will here 
also promote the condition and even assist the accumulation 
of flesh.” 

ALTERATIVES. 

“ Various substances are used as alteratives ; as antimonials, 
and the different preparations of mercury, iron, and tin. The 
nitrate of potash (nitre,) the supertartrate of potash (cream of 
tartar,) aloes, salines, &c., &c., &c., are excellent alteratives. 
Tartarized antimony (emetic tartar) often proves a very useful 

* This I conceive to be the true, and by far the easiest mode. It is easy to 
reduce fat into solid flesh, but very difficult to raise leanness into muscle, and 
preserve hardness at the same time. 


350 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


alterative in the chronic asthmatic cough to which dogs are 
subject, given as an emetic once or twice a week, in doses of 
one grain to three. Antimonial powder, or James’s powder, 
may also be given with benefit as an alterative in similar cases. 
Crude antimony is often found useful in the diseases of the skin ; 
but it is unfortunately very uncertain in its operation : that is, 
some dogs will bear a considerable quantity, while others cannot 
even take a small one without violent sickness; the usual dose 
is from half a scruple to half a drachm. Nitrate of potash 
(nitre) is a very useful alterative to dogs, for hot itching humors 
and redness of the skin, in doses of four grains to ten. The su¬ 
pertartrate of potash (cream of tartar) may be so given likewise 
with benefit in larger doses, in the same cases : all the prepara¬ 
tions of mercury, though excellent alteratives, require great 
caution when frequently repeated, or regularly given; for dogs 
are easily salivated, and salivation produces very hurtful effects 
on them.” 

LAXATIVES AND PURGATIVES. 

“ These evacuants are both preventive and curative of disease : 
they are valuable alteratives , and active immediate agents in 
acute affections. By opening the bowels, we remove a frequent 
cause of irritation to the system ; and a very considerable source 
of skin affections also; for whatever is taken up superfluously 
by the system is apt to find itself an outlet there. We thereby 
likewise prevent pulmonary congestion, and deposits of fat, 
which would obstruct the visceral functions. Laxatives are 
good preventives against that habitual costiveness common to 
dogs and all other carnivorous animals: such, therefore, as are 
flesh-fed should have this tendency obviated by laxatives ; and 
the best which offers itself is a portion of vegetable matter with 
their flesh food: potatoes, or even greens, can always be pro¬ 
cured, and will answer the purpose. This is the more neces¬ 
sary, for costiveness sometimes occasions fatal obstructions; and 
a costive habit brings on fistulae, and also affords encourage¬ 
ment to the breeding of worms. Medicinal laxatives are nu- 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


351 


merous. Epsom salts— sutyhate of magnesia —dose one drachm 
to two; castor oil, two drachms to four; syrup of buckthorn, 
the same quantity, will either of them answer this end, the 
quantities being increased if those mentioned are not found suf¬ 
ficient : but as these directions are intended to meet the tender 
pet of the drawing-room, as well as the strong inhabitant of the 
kennel, so it is prudent to specify the minor dose : more may 
be added, but it is too late to subtract when too much has been 
given. 

“Purgatives may be made by increasing the doses of any of the 
laxatives. Jalap is not a bad purgative to dogs, but it is uncer¬ 
tain, some being little affected by it; rhubarb is equally so; 
senna I have no experience of; gamboge is very drastic; calo¬ 
mel is an excellent auxiliary to other purgatives on some occa¬ 
sions ; but given alone it is apt to deceive, by proving more 
emetic than purgative; neither will the stomach or bowels bear 
a sufficient quantity without producing much derangement in 
the system, as violent vomiting, tenesmus, and sometimes sud 
den salivation. Aloes form the safest general purge to dogs; 
and such are the peculiarities of the canine bowels, that while a 
man can take with impunity as much calomel as would kill two 
large dogs, a moderate-sized dog will take a quantity of aloes 
sufficient to destroy two stout men. The smallest dog can take 
fifteen or twenty grains ; half a drachm is seldom too much, but 
the smaller dose had better be tried first: medium-sized dogs 
usually require a drachm, and some large dogs have taken 
more than two drachms : I have given three to a strong New¬ 
foundland dog without extreme catharsis; but as before ob¬ 
served, dogs differ much in their different habits, and it is there¬ 
fore most prudent to begin with a dose too small than too 
large : hundreds of dogs are every year destroyed by temerity 
in this particular. Whenever a purgative is administered, let 
the dog have some vegetable food, if possible, a day or two pre¬ 
viously ; an active cathartic, given soon after a full meal of 
flesh or bones, might destroy by hurrying the undigested food 
into the intestines, where it might form such an impacted and 
vol. i. 25 


352 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


obstructing mass as could not be overcome: it is prudent to 
place before the dog some broth, milk, &c., to assist purgation. 
Let me warn sportsmen who are putting their dogs through a 
course of j physic , for hunting or coursing purposes, to be aware, 
that it is not the inordinate strength of the dose which does 
good; on the contrary, violent physic often defeats its own pur¬ 
pose : it is a mild and repeated emptying of the bowels which 
unloads the system at large, and at once strengthens the solids 
and purifies the fluids.” 

This, I believe, is all that need be said, in this place, with re¬ 
gard to general medical treatment, except in cases of speci¬ 
fic disease, where the aid of a medical assistant of some kind 
would of course be called in ; and directions for the treatment 
of which cannot be contained within the compass of such a 
work as this. In consequence, however, of the great prevalence 
of two or three maladies, as canine distemper, worms, mange, 
and the like, with some common injuries arising from local 
accidents, I shall here add a few short recipes for the treatment 
of these troublesome maladies, which will be, I think, sufficient 
to guide the sportsman in any ordinary cases. 

Occasional bleeding is of great benefit to dogs. It is most 
readily performed by holding the head of the animal up, 
passing a ligature round the lower part of the neck, which will 
cause the jugular vein to swell at about one inch from the wind¬ 
pipe, and then puncturing the vein with a common thumb lan 
cet. The only care necessary is to avoid inserting the lancet 
so deeply as to sever the vein. If the hair is thick and long, it 
may be requisite to clip, or even shave the spot, before effecting 
the orifice. No pin or ligature is necessary to close the wound. 
In case of fits, or any sudden emergency, a clip in the ear, if no 
lancet is at hand, will answer the end. 

The quantity of blood to be drawn from a dog will vary ac¬ 
cording to the size of the animal, from one or two oz. in a very 
small dog, to six, seven, or eight in a very large one, propor¬ 
tion ably to the nature of disease, and the violence of the symp¬ 
toms. 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


353 


The pulse of the dog may be felt at the heart, and at the 
inner side of the protuberance of the knee. The range of pul¬ 
sation between a very large and a very small dog, is not less 
than 20. Thus, if 100 be taken as the usual number for the 
former, and 120 for the latter, whatever is found much to exceed 
this may be ascribed to the inflammatory state. 

The following brief rules for the treatment of a few of the 
most common diseases, and injuries to which dogs are liable, 
are from Messrs. Blaine and Youatt. They are all safe, and 
will, I think, be found sure. 

DISTEMPER, OR SPECIFIC CATARRHAL DISEASE. 

The term of distemper, though in itself a very absurd and in¬ 
definite term, has become so conventional that it cannot readily 
be dispensed with, as by this name and no other it is generally 
known. 

Whatever it might have been in the first instance, it is now 
a constitutional canine endemic, from which few individuals 
escape. It is at times epidemical also, and is then peculiarly 
fatal. It greatly varies in form, and, particularly when it assumes 
the shape of an epidemic, has some peculiar characteristic 
type, sometimes tending to diarrhoea, sometimes to epilepsy 
and spasms, and sometimes, the most fatal of all, to a putrid 
habit. 

It is unquestionably contagious, but it is, as I have stated, 
endemical and epidemical also, and it is also self-generated. It 
affects dogs at all ages, from mere puppies of five or six weeks, 
to adults of as many years. It occurs also many times in the 
same individual, and dogs have been known to escape it thrice 
and perish by a fourth attack. This is, however, fortunately, 
uncommon. In the most highly-bred dogs it is the most fatal, 
and I have generally observed it to be especially dangerous to 
the smooth-haired races, as Greyhounds and Bull-terriers. With 
Newfoundland dogs, at times, it makes sad havoc. Its symp¬ 
toms are so various, that it is not easy to set before the reader 


354 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


any distinct or strict diagnostic signs, yet it is not difficult, on 
the whole, of detection. 

A dry, husky cough, followed by a loss of spirits and appe¬ 
tite, the staring of the coat, and a thin watery discharge from 
the nostrils and eyes, gradually instead of limpid becoming 
muco-purulent, are usually the earliest symptoms of the disease ; 
though at times the discharge does not appear, or is quickly 
arrested, and followed by convulsions, which usually terminate 
the affair very quickly. 

When the symptomatic epilepsy of distemper occurs, if the at¬ 
tack can be arrested with the occurrence of a single fit, the dog 
often recovers, but if one is followed by a second, the case is 
usually hopeless. 

The virulent or putrid type of the disease marked by a bloody 
and foetid discharge from the nose, eyes, and sometimes even 
from the ears, and by bloody, mucous and bilious evacuations 
of the bowels, is, I think, so almost invariably fatal, that the 
most merciful method is at once to destroy the animal, as an act 
of kindness to himself, as well as a. means of preventing extend¬ 
ed ravages by contagion. 

Again, distemper often leaves behind it a species of paralysis, 
with nervous twitchings of the limbs, similar to chorea or St. 
Vitus’ dance, which continually increase, until it ends in convul¬ 
sions and death, though it will at times slowly and entirely dis¬ 
appear. 

The treatment of distemper must therefore necessarily vary 
greatly, and it is needless to add that although almost every 
sportsman and breeder has, what he believes, an infallible rem¬ 
edy—there is no such thing as a general specific for its cure or 
prevention. 

The best plan generally is to commence operations with a 
mild purgative or emetic, such as have been prescribed under 
the head of General Treatment. 

If there is very much cough, or the pulse be very greatly ex¬ 
cited, bleed from three to six oz., according to the age and size 
of the dog. If bleeding is adopted, use a very mild purgative. 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


355 


The best emetic is 

Calomel, . . £ gr. Tartarized antimony, $ gr. 

This formula is for the smallest dog. The largest may require 
of each 2 grains. • 

After the bowels are cleansed and the body thus depleted, 

Antimonial powder, 2, 3 or 4 grs. Nitrate of Potash, 5, 10 or 15 grs. 
Powdered ipecacuanha, 2, 3 or 4 grs. 

Make into a ball, according to size and age, and give twice or 
thrice a day, as the symptoms are more or less urgent, diminish¬ 
ing the dose if it produces sickness. 

If the cough is very distressing, add to each dose 
Foxglove digitalis, i to 1 gr. 

I f no farther symptoms occur, repeat the emetic every third or 
fourth day, and keep the bowels open, but strenuously avoid 
any thing like active purgation. 

In case of diarrhoea supervening, 

I£. No. 1.—Powdered opium, 5 grs. Powdered catechu, . 2 drs. 

Powdered Gum-Arabic, 2 drs. Prepaied chalk. . . 2 drs. 

Powdered ginger, £ dr. 

Make into twelve, nine, or six balls, with conserve of roses, and 
give from once to four times a day, pro re nata. 

If this does not suffice, 

I$i. No. 3.—Magnesia, . 1 dr. Powdered alum, . 2 scr. 

Powdered calumba, 1 dr. Powdored Gum-Arabic, 2 drs. 

Mix with six ounces of boiled starch, and give a desert or a 
tablespoonful every four, six or eight hours, p. r. n. 

In case of epileptic jits being foreseen, by sudden restlessness, 
animation, brightness of the eyes, and convulsive twitchings of 
the face and jaws, give a brisk emetic, followed by a brisk pur¬ 
gative, and insert a seton in the neck, the tape smeared with 
blistering ointment. If repeated attacks succeed, give the follow¬ 
ing formula to a medium-sized dog, half the quantity to a small 
me, in a spoonful of ale every two hours. 

iEther, . 1 dr. Tincture of opium, . . ^ dr. 

Camphor, . 6 grs. Spirits of hartshorn, . 1 dr. 

Place the dog in a very warm bath for twenty minutes, and keep 

him warm and moist by wrapping in wet flannel before the 


356 FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 

fire, for several hours afterward. Give nourishing food, and keep 
quiet. 

If chorea or ‘paralysis follow distemper, use the seton as 
above, stimulate the spine by rubbing the whole course of it 
with tincture of cantharides, and as a tonic 

ty. Nitrate of silver, very fine, 3 grs. Carbonate of iron, powdered, 2 drs. 

Gentian, powdered, 3 drs. 

Conserve of roses sufficient to make six, nine, or twelve balls, of 
which give one every night and morning, if the stomach will 
bear them. 

Frictions, liberal feeding, strong soups, and cold baths, may 
aid in this stage of the disorder. 

These directions are abridged from Blaine and Youatt, and 
contain, I believe, the best remedial course that can be used. 

For the disease under its ordinary type, the practice above 
detailed will be found all-sufficient, and even when diarrhoea 
sets in, there is no occasion to despair. 

I must say, however, that although I have thought it advisa¬ 
ble to insert formulae for the treatment of the epileptic fits, and 
of the chorea or paralysis of distemper, I have never seen the 
fits conquered where two or three have occurred, and the chorea 
never. 

When paralysis or chorea follows, I would myself kill the ani¬ 
mal as an act of mercy. For the putrid or malignant type of 
this disease, I have not thought it worth the while to prescribe 
any treatment, as it is all but incurable. 

WORMS. 

For worms, an ailment to which dogs are extremely liable, 
and which is very troublesome, and at times, even dangerous, 
the following formula is safe and unexceptionable. 

ty. Cowhage —Dolichos pruriens, half a drachm. 

Tin-filings, very fine, 4 drachms. 

made into four, six, or eight balls, with lard, according to the size 
of the patient, exhibit one every morning, and afterwards ad¬ 
minister a purgative, such as epsom salts, or castor oil, or a 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


357 


very slight mercurial dose, not exceeding 4 grs. of calomel in 
combination with aloes. 


POISONS. 

For any mercurial poisons, the best remedy is the white of 
eggs, beaten into a liquid, given in large quantities, and repeat¬ 
ed as often as they have been ejected. Mild clysters may be 
thrown up, and when the stomach is appeased, give an opiate 
and castor oil. When eggs are not at hand, large doses of soap 
dissolved in water may be tried. 

For arsenic, large doses of sugar dissolved in milk, until the 
stomach is supposed to be cleared, then as above. 

For verdigris, as for mercurial poisons. 

For lead, give a strong dose of epsom salts. If this be reject¬ 
ed, a ball with calomel, aloes and a quarter of a grain of opium. 
After this the body to be kept open with castor oil. 

For vegetable poisons, a strong emetic should be given as 
quickly as possible, followed by a large teaspoonful of mustard, 
or any other strong, spicy stimulant, such as pepper, or the 
like, mixed with vinegar. 


MANGE. 

For common Mange, the following formula for ointment will 
be found useful: 

No. 1.—Powdered sulphur, 4 oz. Muriate of ammonia, powdered, £ oz. 
Aloes, powdered, . 1 dr. Venice turpentine, . . £ oz. 

Lard, 6 oz., mix. 

No. 2.—Sulphate of zinc, 1 dr. Tobacco in powder, . \ oz. 

White Hellebore in powder, ^ oz. Sulphur in powder, . 4 oz. 

Aloes in powder, . 2 dr. Lard, ... 6 oz., mix 

No. 3.—Powdered charcoal, 2 oz. Powdered sulphur, . 4 oz. 

Potash, . . • 1 dr. Lard, . . . . 6 oz. 

Venice turpentine, £ oz., mix. 

No. 4.—Sulphuric acid, . 1 dr. Lard, . . . 6 oz. 

Tar, ... 2 oz. Powdered lime, . 1 oz. 

No. 5.— Wash .—Decoction of tobacco, 3 oz. Decoction of white hellebore, 3 oz. 
Oxymuriate of quicksilver, 5 grs. 

With all these applications a fine wire muzzle must be used 
to prevent the dog licking himself, as if he do so he will infalli- 


358 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


bly perish from the strong poisonous properties of the remedies. 
For red mange, to any of the formula, 1, 2, or 3, to 6 oz. of 
the ointments prescribed, add 1 oz. mild mercurial ointment. 
Use the wire muzzle as above. 

In addition to these outer applications, give mild doses of 
epsom salts twice or thrice a week ; and occasionally, but for 
red mange always , the following formula: 

Black sulphuret of quicksilver, iEthiop’s mineral, 1 oz. 
Supertartarate of potash, 1 oz. Nitrate of Potash, . 2 drs. 

Divide into sixteen, twenty, or twenty-four doses, according to 
the size of the dog, and give one morning and evening. 

Keep the dog warm and dry, and feed on vegetable diet. 

OPHTHALMIA, 

Whether arising from cold, or external irritation, as scratches, 
thorn-wounds, or the like, may be treated successfully as follows: 

Give gentle purgatives, feed low; if much inflammation, bleed. 
Apply the following wash several times a day, after fomenting, 
with an infusion of poppy-heads, or a weak infusion of opium 
in hot water. 

Superacetate of lead, £ dr. Rose-water, • 6 oz. 

When the inflammation is disappearing, 

Sulphate of zinc, . 1 scrup. Weak infusion of elm bark, 6 oz. 

Brandy, one teaspoonful. 


SORE FEET. 

“ When dog’s feet become sore by travelling it is common to 
wash them with brine, but this is not altogether a good practice. 
It is better to bathe them with greasy pot liquor, milk or butter¬ 
milk, and afterwards to defend them from stones or dirt by 
wrapping them up.”— Blaine. 

My practice is alioays after shooting, to bathe a dog’s feet 
when unwounded, with brine, which tends greatly to indurate 
and prevent them from becoming sore. If actually sore, I fol¬ 
low Mr. Blaine’s course of treatment. 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


359 


The habit of worming dogs is, I believe, now entirely out of 
date, as it is entirely useless as a preventive for hydrophobia, 
of which it was ignorantly supposed to prevent the possible 
occurrence. It is an absurd, useless and cruel practice. 

I do not approve of the practice of either cropping, rounding 
or tailing dogs ; but if in compliance with an absurd fashion it 
must be done, and the animal disfigured, and often seriously 
injured—for deafness is a common consequence of cropping— 
the operation should be performed with a pair of sharp, strong 
scissors, and a ligature should be applied to the tail, in order to 
prevent excessive bleeding. 

For the bites of poisonous reptiles, the best remedy is to rub 
the part bitten freely with volatile alcali, and to give to a large 
dog forty drops oft spirits of hartshorn hourly in a teaspoonful 
of sweet oil. 

When these cannot be obtained, rub the wound freely with 
olive oil, close to a wood fire, and give large doses of olive oil 
internally. 

A poultice of the leaves of the broad-leaved plantain, bruised 
and mixed with common salt, I have found useful. 

For sprains, bruises or thorn wounds, hot fomentations of 
infusion of camomile flowers, or vinegar and water, as hot as can 
be endured, and warm poultices, are the best practice. In the 
case of thorn wounds the laceration should be carefully searched 
that no portion of the thorn or splinter remain within it. 

Large cuts or lacerations should be washed carefully with 
tepid water, the lips, if necessary, secured by a stitch or two, 
and the edges brought into contact by strips of adhesive plaster. 
It is a very false idea that the animal’s tongue is the best dres¬ 
sing. Mr. Blaine observes on this point, “ In some instances, I 
am certain, no application can be worse to a wounded dog 
than his own tongue. Whenever dogs are at all inclined to 
foulness, as a tendency to cuticular complaint is called, a sore 
so licked, is sure to become mangy, and to be aggravated by the 
licking.” 

I shall conclude this branch of my subject, as I commenced 


360 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


it, by recommending it strongly to every sportsman to have al 
ways at hand, as better than the best farriers, Blaine’s Canine 
Pathology, and Youatt on the Dog: these, if he have ordinary 
intelligence, and ordinary care, aided by a small medicine-chest, 
and a lancet—without which latter article no sportsman should 
ever take the field—will enable him to guard against the occur¬ 
rence of most disorders in his kennel, and to conquer such as do 
occur, unless extraordinarily obstinate or malignant. 


FIELD MANAGEMENT OF DOGS. 

It is not, of course, presumed that the sportsman is necessari¬ 
ly to become a dog-breaker, much less that a tyro at field sports 
can be made a dog-breaker by reading a few pages more or 
less of written or printed instructions. 

On the contrary, it is notorious that scarce any science is more 
difficult of attainment, or requires more combinations of personal 
qualifications than that of subduing and breaking animals. Ex¬ 
treme patience, great steadiness of temper, sagacity, intelligence, 
quickness of comprehension, firmness and even severity, must be 
united to long experience, to personal strength, physical cour¬ 
age, the power of enduring fatigue, unwearied industry, indo¬ 
mitable energy, and constant perseverance. Even of professional 
dog-breakers, not one in fifty is really up to his business ; how 
then shall the amateur hope to jump at the conclusion in a minute. 

Again, it is presumed that every person who is not a most 
perfect and accomplished sportsman, will buy a well-broke dog; 
or if he breeds, which is troublesome, and very likely to lead to 
disappointment, will have his Pointer or Setter trained by a 
professional workman. 

It is true that a dog will certainly work better for the person 
who has first trained, and continually practised him, without 
ever changing his master; but so few men have the ability, and 
so few of those who have, are willing to give the time or labor 
necessary to indoctrinate a dog thoroughly, that it is hardly ever 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


361 


done by the gentleman sportsman, and indeed I should hardly 
recommend the attempt. 

For a novice to attempt it, would be an act of stark mad¬ 
ness. Still, however, it is necessary to know something of the 
theory of the science, otherwise it will be impossible to keep 
the animal, after being thoroughly trained, perfect in his prac¬ 
tice ; and again, it is well that the rules should be laid down 
distinctly, as very many professed breakers fail in their art from 
want not of perseverance, but of knowledge. 

First of all, it must be remembered, that although to point 
was once a taught quality, it is now, in the pure high-bred 
Pointer and Setter an inherited, if not natural, instinct, and in 
the veiy purest caste of Pointers to back, the point of their fel¬ 
lows, is also now hereditary. I have seen half-a-dozen Pointer 
puppies, not above six weeks old, crawling about the yard, 
pointing the Pigeons and fowls, and backing one another, as 
steadily as old dogs in the field; and I hardly consider any dog, 
Pointer or Setter, as worth the trouble and expense of breaking, 
unless he points the first game bird he ever scents, even if he 
have not seen it. 

The first step I therefore would take with a young dog, 
is to find out whether he has got a nose or not, and whether he 
is worth breaking ; this I should do by taking a walk with him, 
and without a gun, where game abounded, and observing his 
actions and movements. If he have a good nose, and be highly 
bred, he will undoubtedly point on the first occasion of his 
crossing the scent of Quail, Grouse, Snipe, or Woodcock. 

This point once established, the sooner he is carried home 
the better, and he is, on no account whatever, to be taken out 
again, or to see game again, until he is perfectly house-broke. 

It is to the vicious plan of attempting to break dogs in the 
field , and in the face of game , that the number of wild, worth¬ 
less, irreclaimable brutes, is to be attributed. 

The first step in breaking, is to teach the dog to “ down,” or 
“ charge,” wherever he is. He is taught to do this in the com¬ 
mencement, by means of a cord fastened to his collar, and by 


362 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


gentle force, and gentle punishment—at first, at the word 
“ down,” or “ charge,” then by the raised hand accompanying 
the word; then by the raised hand alone. 

This done, the cord must be removed, and he must be accus¬ 
tomed to “ charge” at any distance from his master, and to lie 
steadily at charge, even although the master walks away from 
him with his back turned, and goes out of sight of him, unless 
he is desired to “ hold up.” 

Lastly, he must be taught to consider the sound of the gun as 
equivalent to the raised hand, or the word “ charge,” and to 
obey any one of these signals when at the top of his speed. 

Next, he must learn to answer the sound of the whistle, ac¬ 
cording to his master’s teaching. The best signal is to turn and 
look at one sharp whistle, to come in at a prolonged blast. On 
turning his head, he is to follow the wafture of his master’s 
hand to the right or left, and he is then to be instructed in 
breaking and quartering his ground regularly and evenly at the 
wdiistle, and the waive of the hand. Gradually he will come to 
understand the object of this teaching, and will quarter his ground 
alone. 

This is a very important part of breaking, for no dog can bo 
regarded as at all perfect, which only runs about its ground irre¬ 
gularly, without settled and orderly method, leaving great 
spaces uncrossed, find, perhaps, crossing other spaces several 
times over, wasting time thus, and failing to find much of its 
game ; and yet it is not unfair to say, that of fifty dogs turned 
out ,as broken dogs by American breakers, not one has ever been 
instructed in the rudiments of this branch. 

As soon as the pup drops to shot perfectly, and steadily, and 
turns quickly to the whistle and call, having learned the neces¬ 
sity of prompt and implicit obedience, and the certainty of punish¬ 
ment in case of wilfulness, he may be taken out alone, without a 
gun, to find game. He must thus be accustomed to the word 
“ Toho,” as the signal of pointing, and that so thoroughly, that he 
shall obey the word “ Toho,” by pointing steadily when there 
is no game. 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


363 


This done, several young dogs may be taken out to exercise 
together, and taught all to drop at once at the word “ charge,” 
the raised hand, or the shot; and all to stop or point simulta¬ 
neously at the word “ Toho,” and at the sight thereafter, by 
each of the other’s point. 

All that is requisite in order to enforce these lessons, is stea¬ 
diness. 

The dogs must now be broke to fetch, and this is the hardest 
lesson of all; but no dog is perfect until he has learned it; 
for it is, in the first place, almost indispensable to making 
large bags in our wild wooded country, that dogs should fetch ; 
and, secondly, it tends, if properly done, to render dogs deli¬ 
berate and steady beyond all means in the world. 

This, like the “ down-charge,” must, in the first instance, be 
taught in the collar and cord, and under the whip. 

Observe, above all things in dog breaking, that a dog is never 
to be taught anything by coaxing, but always by the fear of pun¬ 
ishment. A dog which is taught by coaxing, if he turn sulky, 
can never be controlled, as he does not know what punishment 
means. 

A dog is taught.to fetch by charging him, putting a ball or 
some soft substance into his mouth, closing his jaws on it, and 
replacing it, with gentle punishment, so often as he rejects it. 
This learned, he is forced by a repetition of the same process, 
to rise and carry it about—then to fetch it when dropped, or 
thrown, till he is perfect. 

Thereafter, he is made to down-charge first of all, when it is 
thrown, and not to attempt to fetch it, unless desired to “ fetch,” 
to drop several times to the “ charge,” before reaching the ball, 
after being sent for it, and, lastly, to “ charge” with his nose 
almost touching it. The final lesson of all is to deliver it quietly 
and willingly. 

All this is to be enforced by the whip, rigorously, but tempe 
rately,—invariably, but never angrily,—with praise and caresses 
when he does well, and reproaches accompanying chastisement. 

All these things he must be accustomed to do, until they have 


364 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


become absolutely his second nature, without his conceiving to 
what the teaching is applicable. This accomplished, when he 
never fails of obeying these signals and orders—when he becomes 
thoroughly aware that the least infringement of commands is 
followed by sure infliction of the lash—when he performs the 
whole routine of his little instructions, with the mechanical stea¬ 
diness and coolness of a circus horse, take him out with the gun 
alone , and you will have no difficulty in controlling him,—he will 
rapidly come to apply his theory to practice—he will become 
passionately and devotedly fond of his sport,—his enthusiasm 
and ardor will increase the more, the more game is killed over 
him, while he will keep cool and obedient with little or no 
trouble. 

He will not associate his ideas of punishment with the game or 
the gun, but with the infringement of the old teachings, and he will 
in a very short time become—what he never would be if taken 
out half broke, and allowed to contract bad habits, and to com¬ 
mit faults before he knows that they are faults—perfect. In this 
case the prevention comes before the commission of the fault, 
and the error itself is checked by a word before it is committed.. 
In another word, the dog is not flogged for flushing his bird, or 
failing to back his comrade, but for refusing obedience to the 
word “ toho”—not flogged for running in to bite a bird, but for 
disobeying the word “ charge,” the raised hand, or the sound 
of the shot. 

If you wait till the temptation of eagerness and impetuosity 
in the field, is added to the natural difficulty of teaching, you 
will toil in vain. No dog can ever be made a ‘perfect dog, who 
is not perfectly broke to “ down-charge,” to “ toho,” to “ fetch,” 
and to obey implicitly , before a bird is killed over him. 

This is the shibboleth, the grand arcanum of dog breaking. 

All the rest is mere practice and experience, which make 
perfect both the teacher and the taught. 

Young dogs should always be hunted alone, or with other 
young dogs. But it is far better to hunt them quite alone, until 
such time as they come to understand their work thoroughly, 
and to feel confidence in themselves. 


UPLAND SHOOTING. 


365 


If hunted with knowing old dogs, puppies will soon come to 
depend on them entirely; will follow them, and watch their 
every motion, and never learning to beat their own ground, or 
find their own game, will content themselves with backing, in¬ 
stead of pointing, and will become timid, and ultimately useless. 

Hunting puppies, on the contrary, together, will tend to make 
them all wild and rash, and to induce their mutually learning 
the faults of all. 

On the whole, therefore, it is the better way to hunt young 
dogs singly during their first season, killing as many birds over 
them as possible ; and, at the beginning of the second year, re¬ 
membering that brace-hunting is the proper sphere of Pointers, 
or Setters, to introduce them to mates of their own ages, and 
thenceforth always to hunt, and, as much as you can, feed the 
same braces together. One brace of dogs, accustomed so to live 
and beat together, will do better work a-field, than three dogs 
of equal qualities, all working each “ on his own hook.” 

So much for the rules of dog breaking ! 

With regard to practice and management in the field, there is 
little or nothing to be said, beyond what I have already laid 
down , passim, under the heads of the various kinds of Upland 
shooting. 

Dogs should not be harassed by too many, and never by con¬ 
trary, orders. No fault should ever be passed over in silence, 
and very few will be committed. Punishment should be in¬ 
flicted as rarely as possible, but when it is inflicted, it should be 
done thoroughly and severely. 

Never holloa at a dog—never run after a dog, but either make 
him come back to you, or bide your time till he becomes tired 
and returns of his own accord, then punish for the double event 

When you enter a field, or covert, which you propose to beat 
bid your dogs “ hold up,” and waive them right and left. Turn 
them by a whistle, and waive them hither or thither. When 
they strike a bevy of Quail, or other game, never hurry after 
them, but make them go slow by the word “ steady.” If they 
are rash, be you deliberate. If you hurry on, you best encou- 


366 


FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 


rage their hurrying. Never mind if they flush one bevy, and 
you lose one shot. Be steady, and punish, so that they will not 
do so again. 

When they point, flush your own bird, even if you get a worse 
shot at it than you would do by hieing on your dog. To do so 
will make him heedless and headstrong. 

If you kill, stand still, cry “ down-charge,” and load your 
gun. If the dogs run in, don’t run after them, it will only make 
them run the faster. Stand still, and cry “ down,” till you have 
done loading. Then go on deliberately, never heed the dead 
bird, which is probably half eaten by this time, but drag the 
offender back to the place whence he started, crying “ down- 
charge,” and lashing him all the way,—then hold him down, and 
flog him most severely. Make him lie still, without stirring, till you 
have brought the bird, and laid it close under his nose. Then 
make him pick it up, and give it you,—he will not run in many 
times, if so dealt withal. 

Break your dogs thus, or have them thus broken, and when 
they are broken, handle them thus in the kennel, and in the 
field, and my word on it, they will be, and continue good ones. 


I am induced, by some experiments, to qualify my opinions, as ex¬ 
pressed on page 340, in relation to the use of Indian meal as dog food, so 
far as to observe that the meal must be old, since, if new, it is too laxa¬ 
tive. Where oat-meal can be procured, I incline to the belief that the 
mixture of it with Indian meal, in equal proportions, will be found the 
best possible dog food. 


END OF VOLUME ONE. 











































































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